"He had good reason to be reticent, as you shall hear."
But here Sophy burst out: "Be good enough to continue your story without vilifying my father."
"Your father!" sneered the Captain.
"The story--the story!" cried Alan.
"I continue," said Lestrange, with a nod. "As I say, I was jealous of Beauchamp, for before our marriage he had been an admirer of my Zelia's. And, as a matter of fact, she was a singularly attractive woman. You might guess as much," added he blandly, "seeing that her grace and beauty are reproduced in her daughter. But to continue: Zelia had many admirers, three of whom she distinguished above the others--myself, Herbert Beauchamp, and my cousin, Jean Lestrange. I was the lucky man who won her. Jean ceased to pay any attention to her after the marriage, but Beauchamp was persistent. I remonstrated with him--we nearly had a duel--but to no purpose; and I am sorry to say that Zelia encouraged him."
"Proceed with your story, and leave my mother alone," cried Sophy.
Alan started, for he remembered with a pang that Sophy had told him her mother's name was Zelia; but he kept silent, and a terrible dread came over him that this man would prove his statements after all.
Meanwhile the narrator went on pleasantly.
"Beauchamp," he said, fingering his mustache, "was a sugar-planter--at least, he was supposed to be one. He had a plantation some miles from the town of Falmouth, which is on the other side of Jamaica. It was there that Dr. Warrender practised. He was a bachelor in those days, and he was considered rather a wild fellow. Probably for that reason he was a bosom friend of Beauchamp's."
"Do you mean to infer that Beauchamp was wild?"