the rest came up."
Wilfred, a pale-faced, delicate-looking young man, with large, dark eyes, and a hectic flush on his face, shuddered at the calmness with which Lady Jenny went into these details. "I don't know how you can do it!" he gasped, putting his hand to his throat like a hysterical woman. "It is terrible. And I thought you were so fond of Gilbert."
"Yes, I was fond of him," said Lady Jenny, with emphasis, "but I learned something about him lately which rather checked my fondness."
"What?"
"Something that concerned our two selves only. Wilfred. Poor Gilbert! He is dead, so I suppose I must forgive him."
"I wonder who killed him?" said Wilfred.
"I wonder. Of course Gilbert made many enemies."
"Political enemies?"
"Yes, and private ones also. My dear Wilfred," said Lady Jenny, laying her hand on the young man's arm, "I wish to speak well of the dead, especially as the dead was my husband, but Gilbert was not a good man."
Wilfred looked at her doubtfully. "You speak as though you knew something."
"So I do; but that something has nothing to do, with the murder. I have no more idea who killed him than you have."
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