“Not for—not for—Muriel West!” She murmured the name so low that she had to repeat it.
“Muriel West? No. Who on earth is Muriel West?”
“You don’t know!” she cried joyfully. “But, Harry, I saw you talking to her on a coach at Ascot.”
“Do you mean an actress named West? Why, Annie, how jealous you are! I scarcely spoke to her, and shouldn’t have done so at all if Stephen hadn’t been with her. A fellow I know took me to supper once at her house a long time ago—it was the very night of my accident—and I have never seen her since, except that day at Ascot.”
“Then how was it that she was wearing my ornaments?” asked Annie, quickly; and, as she spoke, the truth flashed upon them both.
“The little mean scoundrel!” growled Harry, clinching his fists. “The little crooked, lying rascal! He shall suffer for this clever trick. Then he got all he could out of both of us, and kept us apart by his lies! Of course you never said it was a disgraceful thing for me to turn trainer?”
“I never knew you were a trainer until this afternoon, when I heard those two gentlemen talking about you in the carriage as I came down. He refused to give me your address, saying you had forbidden him to do so, and I found it out only by this card.” She took from her purse the card she had found in the hamper, and continued, “I went to see Stephen last Friday, determined to find out where you were. I saw a hamper of flowers with the lid open, and inside I found this card. I looked outside, and found that the direction was to ‘Miss Muriel West.’”
“The direction had been changed; I directed it to you, and gave it to that wretched little hunchback for you. And, Annie, do you mean to say that, when you saw your ornaments on that woman, you thought that I had given them to her?” he asked, looking at her almost with horror.
“What else could I think, Harry?”
“And you never wrote to reproach me?”