"Sir Rowland is murdered!" cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue. Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. “I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend. If any of you—or all of you feel the same in six months’ time from to-day, will you come, if you care to, and see me then?” There was a brief silence. This—all this swamps them. There was a shrill cry, instantly succeeded by a deep splash. A woman cannot change her soul. “Just do it.
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