"Should you like," broke in Miss Cavan, impatient of his maudlin prolixity—"should you like an opportunity of punishing this girl for her insulting conduct towards you, and of paying out your cousin at the same time for having stolen your place in your uncle's favour?"
"Should I like? Give me the chance!"
"What would you give," Clare asked slowly and distinctly, "to have that girl in your power, to know that you were her master, and that she could not escape from you, while Lorin, whose wife she was to have become, gnashed his teeth and tore his hair with jealousy and rage?"
"What would I give? I think I would give my soul—if any one would take it!"
"I have come to you to-night," pursued Clare, her eyes glittering like emeralds under sunlight, "to tell you that this girl, Lina Grahame, is your lost wife, Laline Garth!"
"Laline! By——! I half guessed it!"
The shock of the news sobered him. For some seconds he sat by her side, perfectly quiet, staring in front of him and pulling at his heavy moustache. Then, suddenly turning upon her, he asked, in an altered tone—
"How did you find all this out? Mind, I know it's true; I don't require proofs. Jove! How she brazened it out to-day, trying to stare me in the eyes while I held her hands! She's a confoundedly good actress! But all you women are good at lying and deceiving. What possessed her, though, to confide in you?"
"She didn't confide in me. She has no idea that I have discovered her secret. She doesn't mean that any one shall know. Your half recognising her must have frightened her, though. She has been talking of breaking off her engagement to Lorin and of going off somewhere by herself."