"And she did not return?"

"No, sir."

"Then how do you explain the presence of the letter on the dresser?"

She flushed again, more hotly than before; she realised that I had caught her in a lie.

"I—I can't explain it, sir," she stammered. "I didn't consider it any of my business," she added fiercely.

"I think you'll find it difficult to explain," I said, with irony; "even more difficult than how it came to lie there unperceived for nearly three hours. You'll pardon me if I find the story hard to believe."

"It's nothing to me whether or not you believe it!" she retorted and made a motion to go on again.

"No," I said; "wait a moment. Which is her room?"

"This one here," and she pointed to a half-open door just beside us.

Ignoring her gesture of protest, I pushed the door back and stepped inside.

The room was a large and pleasant one, well lighted and looking out upon the grove at the east side of the house. There was some little disorder apparent, and over a chair at the farther side of the room I saw a veil lying—no doubt the bridal veil. For the moment I did not seek to see more, but turned back into the hall.

"Nothing there," I said, as though my inspection of the room was ended. "I suppose you helped Miss Lawrence to dress?"

"Yes, sir."

"And she had on her wedding-gown when she went downstairs?"

"Yes, sir, all but the veil."

"What was the colour of the gown?"

"White, sir," she answered, with evident contempt. "White satin made very plain."

"With a train?"

"Yes, sir, with a train."

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