A wild rush of feeling, hatred of the dead woman, surged through me. I could have killed her that moment, had she stood before me.⁠ ⁠… For he must have loved her once⁠—he must⁠—he must⁠—to have felt like that!

I regained control of myself and spoke in my normal voice:

“We seem to have said all there is to be said⁠—except good night.”

“Good night and goodbye, Miss Beddingfeld.”

“Au revoir, Mr. Lucas.”

Again he flinched at the name. He came nearer.

“Why do you say that⁠—au revoir, I mean?”

“Because I have a fancy that we shall meet again.”