“Her status?  Is she maid, wife or widow?”

“Oh, she says she is a widow, and I see every reason to believe her.”

A slight grimness in her manner, the smallest possible edge to her voice, led the judge to remark: 

“She’s good-looking, I suppose.”

A laugh, short and unmusical but not without a biting humour, broke unexpectedly from the landlady’s lips.

“If she is, he don’t know it.  He hasn’t seen her.”

“Not seen her?”

“No.  Her veil was very thick the night she came and she did not lift it as long as he was by.  If she had—­”

“Well, what?”

“I’m afraid that he wouldn’t have exacted as much from her as he did.  She’s one of those women—­”

“Don’t hesitate, Mrs. Yardley.”

“I’m thinking how to put it.  Who has her will of your sex, I might say.  Now I’m not.”

“Pretty?”

“Not like a girl, sir.  She’s old enough to show fade; but I don’t believe that a man would mind that.  She has a look—­a way, that even women feel.  You may judge, sir, if we, old stagers at the business, have been willing to take her in and keep her, at any price,—­a woman who won’t show her face except to me, and who will not leave her room without her veil and then only for walks in places where no one else wants to go,—­she must have some queer sort of charm to overcome all scruples.  But she’s gone too far to-day.  She shall leave the Inn to-morrow.  I promise you that, sir, whatever Samuel says.  But sit down; sit down; you look tired, judge.  Is there anything you would like?  Shall I call Samuel?”

“No.  I’m not much used to walking.  Besides, I have had a great loss to-day.  My man, Bela—­” Then with his former abruptness:  “Have you no idea who this Mrs. Averill is, or why she broke into my house?”

“There’s but one explanation, sir.  I’ve been thinking about it ever since I got wind of where she took my Peggy.  The woman is not responsible.  She has some sort of mania.  Why else should she go into a strange gate just because she saw it open?”

“She hasn’t confided in you?”

“No, sir.  I haven’t seen her since she brought Peggy back.  We’ve had this big automobile party, and I thought my reckoning with her would keep.  I heard about what had happened at your place from the man who brought us fruit.”

“Mrs. Yardley, you’ve seen this woman’s face?”

“Yes, I’ve seen her.”

“Describe it more particularly.”

“I can’t.  She has brown hair, brown eyes and a skin as white as milk; but that don’t describe her.  Lots of women have all that.”

“No, it doesn’t describe her.”  His manner seemed to pray for further details, but she stared back, unresponsive.  In fact, she felt quite helpless.  With a sigh of impatience, he resorted again to question.

“You speak of her as a stranger.  Are you quite sure that she is a stranger to Shelby?  You have not been so very many years here, and her constant wearing of a veil in-doors and out is very suspicious.”