"Pray don't call me Marie! I am Sophia Marlow."
"As you please. Temper again! Oh, how you remind me of Zelia!"
She was confounded at the cool assurance of the man. Nothing seemed to ruffle his temper or banish his eternal smile. He was more hateful to her than ever. Never would she acknowledge herself his daughter, even should he prove his claim! She was of age, and her own mistress. The will of Richard Marlow left the money, not to "my daughter," but to "Sophia Marlow," so there was no possibility of the money being taken from her. Then she thought of Alan. He would stand between her and this man. And even as this thought came into her mind, the door opened, and Thorold came forward eagerly to meet her; but, on perceiving the stranger, he stopped short. Lestrange rose and bowed in a foreign fashion.
"Oh, Alan!" cried Sophy, "I am so glad you have come! I was waiting for you."
"And I also," remarked Lestrange.
"Who is this gentleman, Sophy?" demanded Alan.
"He calls himself Captain Lestrange. Here is his card."
"Captain in the army of the Peruvian Republic," said the man, "and this young lady's father!"
"Confound you!--what--what----!"
"Oh yes, Alan. He says he is my father--that my true father stole me from him. Here is the certificate of my birth, he says."