Easily. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. I was mean to him. She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. What is the matter with you?” Dunster had withdrawn discreetly. . “In the event of his death we should require you at once to attend at the inquest. I’m taking no chances. ” “Why did you keep her all of these years? What good can it do?” “She created me, Lucia.
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