Margaret lifted her head.

“It is late,” she said.

“Yes.”

She looked like Margaret carved in stone; there seemed to be no colour, no feeling, no emotion. She said, “Aren’t you going?” and Charles shook his head.

“No-I want to talk to you.”

“Yes, there was something I was going to say-but it’s too late.”

“What were you going to say?”

She had not looked at him at all; she did not look at him now. He could not see her eyes. She spoke in a dull voice:

“When are you going to take her away?”

“Do you mean Greta?”

“I mean Margot Standing. When are you going to take her away? You had better take her away quickly.”

At the first sound of her voice Charles became once more master of his own thoughts. The obsession of those three terrible sentences was gone. He said perhaps the last thing that she expected, and said it in quiet everyday tones:

“Why did you break off our engagement?”

She had been still before; but it seemed as if a hush came upon the stillness like the glaze of ice upon still water. There was a pause, so deep that very far off sounds came near and clamoured at Charles’ ears-a footstep a long way down the street; a motor horn two roads away; the sound of wet branches rubbing against each other from the tree whose yellow leaves he had watched falling-he could almost have heard them falling now.

Then Margaret said slowly,

“Do you want me to tell you that?”

“I think so-I think it would be better if you did.”

She moved her head a little. The movement said “No.” Her voice came faintly:

“It won’t do any good.”

“I want to know. I think you must tell me.”

“Yes,” said Margaret, “I must-now. But it won’t do any good. Nothing will do any good. Only you must take her away. I can’t have her here. You’ll take her away to-morrow-won’t you?”

Charles looked at her with a set face.

“Tell me why you broke our engagement.”

Just for a moment she stood where she was. Then she sat down in the nearest chair. It was the armchair affected by Greta; a novel lay on the floor beside it. Margaret sat down in the chair. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her face screened by her hands.

Charles remained standing.

“Something happened to make you break your engagement. I want to know what it was.”

“Yes-something happened.” She paused. “It’s very difficult to tell.”

“Something happened after you got home from our dance that night, for I’ll swear-” He checked a rising note of passion, the memory of how they had parted.

“Some of it happened before. I didn’t know it was happening-I didn’t know what did happen. It was that morning. I was in a hurry. I went into the study for something. You know Freddy used to write there before breakfast-those long letters he loved to send people. He always wrote them in the study before breakfast. No one was allowed to disturb him. It was a regular family joke. Well, I thought he must have finished, and I went in. He was standing on the other side of the room with his back to me, and-Charles, there was a hole in the wall.”

“What!”

“It was a safe. You know, lots of people have them; only I didn’t know there was such a thing in the house. He had taken down a picture that covered it. And he was rustling some papers, so he didn’t hear me come in. I came right up to the table. And he didn’t hear me, so I stood there and waited for him to turn round. I wanted to ask him something-I forget what it was. I waited. I was rather curious too. There was a letter lying on the table-it caught my eye. You know, one wouldn’t ever think of Freddy’s letters being private- he used to pass them round. I noticed this one because it was written on such funny paper, like wrapping paper. I only saw one sentence, and I thought I had better not go on looking at it, so I moved back. And just then Freddy turned round. He was awfully startled. He thought he had locked the door, and he kept on saying how careless he was, and that it might have been one of the maids, and what was the good of a secret safe if everyone knew where it was? And he said would I promise not to tell anyone? And then I went away. I think perhaps he’d forgotten I was going to be out all day, because he said afterwards he tried to find me-I was out, you know, all day.”

Charles knew. They were together on the river-a cloudless day that neither of them guessed was to be their last.

Margaret went on. The words were coming more easily now. It was as if some frightful pressure of silence was at last finding relief.

“I only just had time to dress. Freddy seemed quite pleased all evening. But when we got home, he let Mother go upstairs and he said he wanted to speak to me. I went into the study with him, and he began to cry. It-it was dreadful. I’d never seen him anything but cheerful before. I’d never seen a man cry. He sat down at the table and put his head in his hands and burst out crying.”

She made a little pause; but Charles did not speak. She drew in her breath with a shiver and went on:

“It was about my mother. He told me she was very ill. He said she did not know it herself. He said if she had any trouble or anxiety, it would kill her. And then he put his head in his hands and groaned and said he was her murderer.” Again the pause, the shivering breath. “I couldn’t understand what he meant. And all of a sudden he began to talk about my coming into the study that morning. He asked me if I had noticed a letter lying on the table. I had almost forgotten all about it. He kept on asking whether I had read any of it, and how much I had read. And I told him I had only seen one sentence and a name. And I asked him if it was the name of a race-horse.” Her voice sank and ceased.

Charles stood dark and frowning above her. He spoke now, sharply.

“What did you see?”

Without looking at him and without answering, she took her hands from her face and spread them to the cold unlighted fire.

Charles repeated his question:

“What did you see?”

“I can’t tell you-I mustn’t-I promised.”

“What name did you see?”

“I didn’t know it was a name-I didn’t know what it was.”

“You saw a name. What was it?”

“Grey Mask,” said Margaret in a whisper.

After a moment Charles said, “Go on.”

“He was dreadfully upset. He cried. After a bit he told me that when he was a boy he had got mixed up in a secret society. You know he lived abroad with his mother and never went to school or college. He said he got into bad company.” For the first time she looked at Charles. It was a look of appeal-for Freddy, not for herself. “You can imagine how it happened-you can imagine what Freddy was like as a boy.”

Charles had nothing sympathetic to say about Freddy. He said nothing.

“He joined this secret society. He didn’t tell me what it was for. He said it was political; but he said everyone who joined it signed a statement that implicated them in something they could be sent to prison for-they had to take an oath, and they had to sign a statement that they had committed some crime. It was all very carefully worked out. The things were things they could have done. It was to make it quite safe for the society. Freddy said he joined it when he was only seventeen-you know how a boy of that age will join anything that’s exciting. Well, he said after a few years he came over here, and he forgot all about it. And then he came into money, and they began to bother him. And he said he was in love with my mother, and he did foolish things to keep them quiet, so that they got a fresh hold on him. It was idiotic of him, but I don’t suppose Freddy could help it-I mean he’s like that. Then after he married Mother it got worse. I don’t know what they made him do-things he hated, and things that frightened him. He’d had a rotten time, he said.”

“Why did he tell you all this?”