Speak! Can't you speak to me? Are you a ghost?"
"Of course not," he answered, with a calm which surprised him. "You can't have forgotten in less than six months what I look like."
A new expression struggled into her face. She abandoned her grasp of the handle and came back to her former position.
"Look here," she faltered, "if you are Philip Romilly, where's he—Douglas?… Where's Douglas?"
There was no answer. Philip simply looked at her. She began to shake once more upon her feet.
"Where's Douglas?" she demanded fiercely. "Tell me? Tell me quickly, before I go mad! If you are Philip Romilly alive, if it wasn't your body they found, where's Douglas?"
"You can guess what happened to him," Philip said slowly. "I met him on the towing-path by the side of the canal. I spoke to him—about you. He answered me with a jest. I think that all the passion of those grinding years of misery swept up at that moment from my heart. I was strong—God, how strong I was! I took him by the throat, Beatrice. I watched his face change. I watched his damned, self-satisfied complacency fade away. He lost all his smugness, and his eyes began to stare at me, and his lips grew whiter as they struggled to utter the cries for mercy which choked back. Then I flung him in—that's all. Splash! … God, I can hear it now! I saw his face just under the water. Then I went on."
