“Awfully glad!” he replied, trying to be jocular.  The words stuck in his throat.  He had expected to meet—­if he met her at all—­a skulking contrite criminal.  This woman was jubilant.  An amazing, terrifying state of affairs.

“There is something the matter with you, Tommy.  Perhaps you have caught my headache.  You remember how inquisitive you were?  And how you complained of the roses?  If you come up now you will find fresh ones waiting for you.”

Her glance was unclouded.  No human being ever looked less conscience-stricken.  It was as though she had convinced herself of the righteousness of her deed, and thereafter dismissed it from her mind as something not worth bothering about.  Blithe as a bird!  If he had not seen with his own eyes—­

“Has it gone, your headache?” he enquired, not knowing what to say.

“Gone away altogether.  I have heard so much about this procession that I thought I would drive down and have a look at it.  I missed the last one, you know.  Besides, I wanted to see some friends here whom I’ve been neglecting lately.  I feel quite guilty about it,” she added.

He couldn’t help saying: 

“You don’t look guilty.”

“Ah, but you mustn’t judge by appearances!”

“You blamed the sirocco, I remember.”

“I don’t blame it any longer.  Surely a woman can change her mind?  But what is the matter with you?”

“Perhaps the south wind,” he ventured.

She remarked laughingly: 

“I don’t believe the wind is in the south at all.  But you always were a funny boy, Tommy.  If you are very good you will see some pretty fireworks presently.  As for myself, I shall have to drive home for Baby’s early dinner.”

“Fireworks in broad daylight?” he asked.  “That is something new.”

“In broad daylight!  Aren’t they queer people?  They can’t wait till it gets dark, I suppose.”

At that moment they were joined by Keith and three or four others.  He had no more chance of speaking to her alone; she drove away, not long afterwards, waving her parasol at him and leaving him in a state of dazed perplexity.

He had been thinking night and day about his cousin, certain of her criminality and profoundly convinced of her moral rectitude.  What had Muhlen done?  He had probably threatened her with some exposure.  He was her legal husband—­he could make himself abominable to her and to Meadows.  The future of the child, too, was imperiled.  He might be able to claim it; or if not that—­the bishop’s notions of bastardy laws were not very clear—­he could certainly rely upon his friend the magistrate to take the child out of the mother’s custody or do something horrible of that kind.  The happiness of that whole family was at his mercy.  She had been goaded to desperation.  Mr. Heard began to understand.  To understand—­that was not enough.  Anybody could understand.

Keith took his arm and remarked: