"Ah! you will listen then!" said Victor, joyfully; "and when you have listened you shall understand! Well. First I have the fact that the lawyer for this woman is the man who deserted the Grace Conroy in the mountains—the man who was called Philip Ashley, but whose real name is Poinsett."
"Who did you say?" said Mrs. Conroy, suddenly stepping from the tree, and fining a pair of cruel eyes on Ramirez.
"Arthur Poinsett—an ex-soldier, an officer. Ah, you do not believe—I swear to God it is so!"
"What has this to do with me?" she said scornfully, resuming her position beside the pine. "Go on—or is this all?"
"No, but it is much. Look you! he is the affianced of a rich widow in the Southern Country, you understand? No one knows his past. Ah, you begin to comprehend. He does not dare to seek out the real Grace Conroy. He shall not dare to press the claim of his client. Consequently, he does nothing!"
"Is this all your news?"
"All!—ah, no. There is one more, but I dare not speak it here," he said, glancing craftily around through the slowly darkening wood.
"Then it must remain untold," returned Mrs. Conroy, coldly; "for this is our last and only interview."
"But, Julie!"
"Have you done?" she continued, in the same tone.