"I certainly think that this man who called himself Berwin was your husband," said Denzil, for Mrs. Vrain's eyes rested on him, and she seemed to expect an answer.
"Well, then, that means I'm Mr. Vrain's widow?"
"I should say so."
"And entitled to all his pile?"
"That depends on the will," said Lucian dryly, for the light tone of the pretty woman jarred upon his ear.
"Oh, that's all right," replied Mrs. Vrain, putting a gold-topped smelling bottle to her nose. "I saw the will made, and know exactly how I come out. The old man's daughter by his first wife gets the manor and the rents, and I take the assurance money!"
"Was Mr. Berwin—I beg pardon, Vrain—was he married twice?"
"I should think so!" said Lydia. "He was a widower with a grown-up daughter when I took him to church. Well, can I get this assurance money?"
"I suppose so," said Link, "provided you can prove your husband's death."
"Sakes alive!" cried Mrs. Vrain briskly. "Wasn't he murdered?"