“He had a wife, you know,” he remarked to the little wooden figure. He brought his hand near to the candlelight to examine his nails. “Arabella Woodhope. The most charming girl in all the world. But dead. Dead, dead, dead.” He picked up a nail-buffer from the table and began to polish his nails with it. “In fact, now that I come to think of it, was I not in love with her myself? I think I must have been. She had the sweetest way of saying my name and smiling at the same time, and every time she did so, my heart turned over.” He laughed. “You know, it is really very ridiculous, but I cannot
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