“I hope,” said Helen, at parting, “that I may persuade you to come here and dine with my father some evening when Mrs. Capella and I are in town.  If you take any interest in old coins he will entertain you for hours.”

“Then I depend on you to bring an invitation to the Hall this evening.  I expect to be in Stowmarket next week.”

“Are you leaving to-morrow?” inquired Mrs. Capella.

“I think so.”

“Would you care to walk to the house with me now?”

“I will be delighted.”

So the carriage was sent off, and the two followed on foot.  Brett thought that impulse had led him aright.

Once past the lodge gates, Margaret looked at him suddenly, with a quick, searching glance.  Hume was not in error when he spoke of her “Continental tricks of manner.”

“You wonder,” she said, “why I do not trust you fully?  You know that I am keeping something back from you?  You imagine that you can guess a good deal of what I am endeavouring to hide?”

“To all those questions, I may generally answer ‘Yes.’”

“Of course.  You observe the small things of life.  The larger events are built from them.  Well, I can be candid with you.  My husband believes that I not only deceived him in regard to my marriage, but he is, or was, very jealous of me.”

She paused, apparently unable to frame her words satisfactorily.

“Having said so much,” put in the barrister gently, “you might be more specific.”

His cool, even voice reassured her.

“I hardly know how best to express myself,” she cried.  “Question me.  I will reply so far as I am able.”

“Thank you.  You have told me that you first met Mr. Capella on New Year’s Eve two years ago, at Covent Garden?”

“That is so.”

“Had you ever heard of him before?”

“Never.  He was brought to my party by an Italian friend.”

“Did the acquaintance ripen rapidly?”

“Yes.  We found that our tastes were identical in many respects.  I did not know of my brother’s death until the 2nd of January.  No one in Beechcroft had my address, and my solicitor’s office was closed on the holiday.  Mr. Capella called on me, by request, the day after the ball, and already I became aware of his admiration.  Italians are quick to fall in love.”

“And afterwards?”

“When poor Alan’s murder appeared in the press, Giovanni was among the first to write me a sympathetic letter.  Later on we met several times in London.  I did not come to reside in the Hall until all legal formalities were settled.  A year passed.  I went to Naples.  He came from his estate in Calabria, and we renewed our friendship.  You do not know, perhaps, that he is a count in his own country, but we decided not to use the title here.”

“Then Mr. Capella is not a poor man?”

“By no means.  He is far from rich as we understand the word.  He is worth, I believe, L1,500 a-year.  Why do you ask?  Had you the impression that he married me for my money?”