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"Well," said Jen, seeing that the man spoke in all good faith, "the body of Mr. Maurice was stolen on that night." "What in the world—" she began in alarm, but Elinor silenced her questioning with a weak wave of one tired hand. "To my cost, major; but he did not love me. This girl--this Miss Dallas," she added in a faltering voice, "she must be very lovely, for Mr. Sarby loves her also. A woman who has three men at her feet must be wonderful.".

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"I don't think so," said he, with conviction. "Why should he kill Maurice?" "Oh, it's not, it's not that much," I fairly gasped and I couldn't help the tears coming into my eyes. I have never said much about it, but nobody knows how it hurts me to be as—large as I am. Just writing it down in a book mortifies me dreadfully. It's been coming on worse and worse every year since I married. Poor Mr. Carter had a very good appetite, and I don't know why I should have felt that I had to eat so much every day to keep him company; I wasn't always so considerate about him. Then he didn't want me to go for long walks with the dogs any more, because married women oughtn't to, or ride horseback either—no amusement left but himself; and—and—I just couldn't help the tears coming and dripping as I thought about it all and that awful waist measure in inches. "I think so, major--for half-an-hour, at least!" "Ah, that is what we wish to find out," said the doctor, gravely. "But how do I know? Battersea may be the thief.".