"And you can consider it so much waste-paper. The woman who was buried was my double," said Mrs. Paslow composedly.
"You cannot deceive me in that way, Maud. I saw you ill in bed."
"And so I was. I had a bad attack of influenza," said his wife, with a calm smile. "Oh, my illness was genuine enough; but I did not die,--although I appeared to do so, for reasons connected with a second marriage."
"With Mr. Paslow's marriage to me?" asked Beatrice, striving to regain her calmness, and emulate the sang-froid of this cold, audacious woman, who appeared to have no feelings.
"Well, no," drawled Mrs. Paslow, "not exactly. I never did care to benefit my fellow-creatures to that extent. I refer to a marriage I wished to make with a rich American. However, his mother stopped the marriage, and I found myself without a natural protector. Therefore, as I heard from Major Ruck that Vivian proposed to make you his wife, I came here to save you, and stop him from committing bigamy."
"Which you just now proposed to commit yourself?" said Beatrice, with cold contempt.
Mrs. Paslow looked at her between half-closed eyelids, and shrugged her finely moulded shoulders. "Quite so," she said politely; "but I have my reasons for risking imprisonment."
"Reasons connected with money," sneered Vivian.
"Connected with over a million--pounds, not dollars. Well?"
"Well,"--he faced her squarely--"and what do you propose to do now?"