“You will have done nothing of the sort.  He wouldn’t think twice about what a woman said in her anger or her grief.  He wouldn’t believe it.  He’s got too much sense.  You can put that idea out of your head for ever.”

“I cannot put it out.  I had to tell you—­lest you should think—­”

“Lest I should think—­what?”

“That it was something else that caused his illness.”

“But, my dear lady—­it was something else.  I haven’t a doubt about it.”

“I know what you mean,” she said quickly.  “He had been drinking—­poor dear.”

“How do you know that?”

“The doctor asked me.  He asked me if he had been in the habit of taking too much.”

Hannay heaved a deep sigh of discomfort and disappointment.

“It’s no good,” said she, “trying to keep things from me.  And there’s another thing that I must know.”

“You’re distressing yourself most needlessly.  There is nothing more to know.”

“I know that woman was here.  I do not know whether he came here to meet her.”

“Ah well—­that I can assure you he did not.”

“Still—­he must have met her.  She was here.”

“How do you know that she was here?”

“You saw her yourself, coming out of the hotel.  You were horrified, and you pulled me back so that I shouldn’t see her.”

“There’s nothing in that, nothing whatever.”

“If you’d seen your own face, Mr. Hannay, you would have said there was everything in it.”

“My face, dear Mrs. Majendie, does not prove that they met.  Or that there was any reason why they shouldn’t meet.  It only proves my fear lest Lady Cayley should stop and speak to you.  A thing she wouldn’t be very likely to do if they had met—­as you suppose.”

“There is nothing that woman wouldn’t do.”

“She wouldn’t do that.  She wouldn’t do that.”

“I don’t know.”

“No.  You don’t know.  So you’re bound to give her the benefit of the doubt.  I advise you to do it.  For your own peace of mind’s sake.  And for your husband’s sake.”

“It was for his sake that I asked you for the truth.  Because—­”

“You wanted me to clear him?”

“Yes.  Or to tell me if there is anything I should forgive.”

“I can assure you he didn’t come here to see Sarah Cayley.  As to forgiveness—­you haven’t got to forgive him that; and if you only understood, you’d find that there was precious little you ever had to forgive.”

“If I only understood.  You think I don’t understand, even yet?”

“I’m sure you don’t.  You never did.”

“I would give everything if I could understand now.”

“Yes, if you could.  But can you?”

“I’ve tried very hard.  I’ve prayed to God to make me understand.”

Poor Hannay was embarrassed at the name of God.  He fell to contemplating his waistcoat buttons in profound abstraction for a while.  Then he spoke.