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hair was longer and there was an air of girlish awkwardness about her, but her features were clearly recognizable.
    â€œYou will forgive me for pointing out that not all wives are great beauties,” said Carmichael.
    â€œOh, yes, they are,” she contradicted him. “No man has ever married a woman he didn’t think was beautiful. He may be aware that she doesn’t look like Elizabeth Taylor, it may be purely an inner beauty, recognizable only to himself. But he always thinks she’s beautiful in some way, and I never had any inner beauty, either. The other girl in the picture,” she added, “was my sister, Gwenda.”
    Carmichael turned his attention back to the photograph, interested to see Berowne’s first wife. She looked tiny beside Miss Wellman. She, too, was dark-haired, but otherwise there was not the slightest resemblance. This girl was round-faced, with a sweet smile and large, gentle, dark eyes.
    â€œShe looked like our mother,” said Miss Wellman. “I took after Father—in more ways than looks.”
    â€œYou were very fond of her?” asked Carmichael.
    â€œOh, yes. Everyone was.” Miss Wellman looked up, staring into the fire. “She was one of those rare creatures. She had the true gift of happiness and everyone she came into contact with gleaned a little of it. She was a very gentle person, but she could always smooth things over. She liked doing it, it was easy for her.” She sighed and turned back to her knitting. “It would have been much better if I could have died instead of her. Then Geoffrey would still be alive, and still happily married—because their marriage was a happy one, odd as that always seemed to me. And he would certainly have been on better terms with Paul.”
    â€œYou think Gwenda would have smoothed out their business differences?”

    She hesitated for a moment. “Oh, yes,” she said, a trifle too casually. “She was good at things like that.”
    So, thought Carmichael, they had differences outside of business, too. But all he said was, “How long ago did your sister die?”
    â€œNearly eight years ago now. I came to live here a few years before that, when my arthritis started acting up and I had to give up teaching. I wasn’t too sure about it really, but Gwenda was quite firm that I should come and, actually, it worked out very well. When she died, Geoffrey made a point of asking me to stay on, so I did. We’d gotten used to each other by then, you see. It wasn’t the same without Gwenda, but we got on all right.”
    â€œUntil he remarried?” suggested Carmichael gently, but she was not to be drawn out. She gave him an amused glance.
    â€œIt didn’t make a great deal of difference to me,” she said. “Beyond that I didn’t like to see Geoffrey making a fool of himself and that I had to put up with Annette at mealtimes. Geoffrey always insisted on family meals.”
    â€œSo you didn’t resent Mrs. Berowne?”
    â€œDon’t be silly, Chief Inspector. Of course I resented her. Any fool could see that. I probably would have resented any woman who tried to take my sister’s place. I also might have got over that if she hadn’t been such a conniving little twit. Annette has never thought of anybody but herself in her whole life.”
    Carmichael frowned at this; Annette had not struck him as a conniver, and he wondered if her undeniable charm had affected his judgment.
    â€œDid you feel that she treated Mr. Berowne badly?”
    â€œIt depends on what you mean by that,” she replied, giving him a wry glance. “She kept up the illusion she was in love with him, billed and cooed over him and all that, but that’s about all she did. Kitty and I still run the house between us.”
    â€œSo you feel she didn’t take on the responsibilities she should
have?” Carmichael tried to keep his tone neutral, but