“My name is Howard—Varley Howard,” said Varley.
Trafford started, with his cigarette half-way to his mouth.
“Varley Howard?” he echoed. “Of Three Star Camp?”
“Of Three Star Camp, and very much at your service,” said Varley, with his little drawl. “May I ask the same question?”
Trafford rose.
“My name is Belfayre,” he said.
Varley’s fingers closed over his cigarette, and the red flamed in his face for a second, to leave it deathly pale.
“The Duke of Belfayre?” he said in a perfectly expressionless voice.
“Yes; I am the Duke of Belfayre,” said Trafford.
There was a moment’s silence, Varley breathing hard and looking just above Trafford’s head. The blood was beginning to burn in his veins as Esmeralda’s wrongs rose before him. This man standing there was the man who had deceived her and wrecked the child’s life.