We were standing in the drawing-room as I spoke.  Suddenly I gave a start as my eye drifted to the mantelpiece.  ’What an extraordinary coincidence!’ I exclaimed.  A strange eerie feeling came over me.  Marion’s lost photo had been restored to its frame.

CHAPTER XII

William resumes his story:  I am now aware that I should not have invoked the aid of Elizabeth.  A man should work out his own destiny.  Once a woman precipitates herself in an affair, complications are bound to follow.  Also Elizabeth is no ordinary woman.  There are times when I question whether she is human.  Was it not her idea that I should—­but I must try to chronicle the events in their correct sequence.

The mistake I made primarily, was in not going away directly I first heard from Elizabeth of Miss Warrington’s unfortunate and misplaced attachment for me.  Things might then have adjusted themselves quite naturally.  The idea, however, of a sensitive woman suffering on my account was exceedingly distasteful to me.  If, I decided, I could bring about her complete disillusionment my conscience would be at rest.  Also there would then be no necessity to cut myself off from the Warringtons, and give up my pleasant discourses with Henry.  Thus, I felt, I was taking the most advisable course under the circumstances.

As for Miss Warrington herself, her behaviour was so inexplicable I wondered if her mind was not beginning to get unhinged.  In the first place it was, I thought, unmaidenly enough that she should, through the medium of Elizabeth, thrust her photo on me; but that the photo should be accompanied by some feeble selection from the ill-balanced outpourings of Byron (who is my pet aversion) was, indeed, almost revolting.

Further, her attitude towards me in the presence of others was one of open hostility.  So well, indeed, did she act on one occasion when I happened to be dining at her brother’s house, that a new hope sprang up within me.  I began to think that her strange uncalled-for passion for me had passed—­in short, that her love had turned to hate.  So impressed was I with this idea that when I next called at the Warringtons’ I asked Elizabeth if I could speak to her alone for a few moments.

‘About Miss Marryun, I’ll bet,’ she remarked.  Looking at her I thought she accompanied her words with a slight lowering of the left eyelid.  I trust I was mistaken.  Free as the girl is in her speech I have never given her any encouragement to embellish it by winking.

[Illustration:  A slight lowering of the left eyelid.]

‘Naturally, the subject has been preying on my mind,’ I admitted.  ’But I am not so tortured with misgivings as before.  Miss Warrington has ceased to—­er—­interest herself in me.  In fact she detests me.’

‘Oo ses that tom-my-rot?’ asked the girl, turning on me almost fiercely.