and duskily flushed with his own hospitality, but without the genial
front which Rachel had liked best in him. His voice also, when he had
carefully shut the door behind him, was unnaturally stiff.

"I congratulate you," he said, with a bow but nothing more; and Rachel
saw there and then how it was to be; for with her at least this man had
never been stiff before, having indeed offended her with his familiarity
at the time when her husband and he were best friends.

"I owe it very largely to you," faltered Rachel. "How can I thank you?"

Carrington said it was not necessary.

"Then I only hope," said Rachel, on one of her impulses, "that you don't
disagree with the verdict?"

"I didn't read the case," replied Carrington glibly, and with neither
more nor less of the contemptuous superiority with which he would have
referred to any other Old Bailey trial; but the man himself was quick to
see the brutality of such a statement, and quicker yet to tone it down.

"It wasn't necessary," he added, with a touch of the early manner which
she had never liked; "you see, I knew you."

The insincerity was so obvious that Rachel could scarcely bring herself
to confess that she had come to ask his advice. "What was the point?" he
said to that, so crisply that the only point which Rachel could think of
was the fresh, raw grievance of the empty house.

"Didn't your solicitor tell you?" asked Carrington. "He came to me about