The middle of the month, wasn't it?
Do you remember the day?
I should like to know the exact day if you can tell me." "The fifteenth," said Durrance; and Ethne repeated the date meditatively.
"I was at Glenalla all February," she said.

"What was I doing on the fifteenth?
It does not matter." She had felt a queer sort of surprise all the time while Willoughby was telling his story that morning, that she had not known, by some instinct, of these incidents at the actual moment of their occurrence.
The surprise returned to her now.

It was strange that she should have had to wait for this August night and this summer garden of moonlight and closed flowers before she learned of the meeting between Feversham and Durrance on February 15 and heard the message.

And remorse came to her because of that delay.

"It was my own fault," she said to herself.
"If I had kept my faith in him I should have known at once.