“It was a very lucky accident for him.” A low, drawling laugh.

And then the other voice, hurrying to be cruel:

“Some people have all the luck. Dale Jerningham’s one of the lucky ones.”

That was when she had known that they were talking about Dale. She said faintly and piteously,

“I didn’t know – I really didn’t know – not till she said that.”

Miss Silver turned her stocking.

“Not till she said what, my dear?”

Lisle went on speaking. She did not think about Miss Silver at all. It was easier to talk than to listen to the voices which went round and round in her head.

“She said that Dale was lucky because his first wife had an accident. They married when he was very young – only twenty, you know, and she was older than he was – a good deal older – and she had a lot of money. They talked about that. They said Dale would have had to sell Tanfield if he hadn’t married her. I don’t know if that is true – I don’t know if any of it is true. Her name was Lydia. They said he didn’t love her, but she was very fond of him. She made a will which left him everything, and a month later she had an accident when they were climbing in Switzerland. They said it was a very lucky accident for Dale. They said the money saved Tanfield. I don’t know if that is true.”

Miss Silver observed her gravely. No expression in the face. No expression in the voice. No colour. No life. There was more here than the death – by accident – of an unknown first wife a good many years ago. She said,

“I am a great admirer of the late Lord Tennyson. It is a pity that he is not more read nowadays, but I believe that he will come into his own again. When he wrote, ‘A lie that is half the truth is ever the worst of lies,’ he wrote something that we would all do well to remember when we have been listening to injurious gossip.”