“Lady Keith,” corrected Sir George, smiling.
There came to me a faint hope like a star dimly seen amid a storm sky. Perchance he had forfeited the right to call her wife. What else could mean her shrinking from him, her fear when they had met, and I had been near to see? Oh, if it could but be true! My eyes saw clearer, and my hand became firmer.
“I have no privilege to ask,” I began, yet I hoped for an answer, “but I had been led to believe otherwise of--of--Lu--of Lady Keith.”
“Aye, I suppose so,” was his answer, in a biting tone. “I am in little mood for the telling, yet I will relate how it came to pass; for there have been strange goings on since Mistress Lucille became Lady Keith.”
Then as we two stood there, each with deadly hatred of the other in his heart, he began:
“I met Lucille and fell in love with her some five years ago. I first saw her in Paris, where I had gone in quest of you. There I lingered unable, because of the witchery of her eyes, to leave. We met often, for I contrived to prevail on her father to let me give her lessons in English. And you may guess I lost no opportunity of giving her lessons in love at the same time. Well, my suit prospered, and in a year we were wed, both as happy as lovers proverbially are.
“Then one day, ’twas a small matter, to be sure, but there was a story that some court lady had been found in my bed chamber. Only a trifle, for she had been there to gain my friendship in a matter concerning some titled personage, and called rather early, that was all. But Lucille heard of it, and, as I could not deny that the lady was there, why, my wife assumed that I had tired of her charms. She flew into a great passion, and when I had imagined she would pout a bit, and seem offended, she was most grievously angered. Hast ever seen her in a temper?” he asked suddenly.
“No,” I said sharply. “Go on.”
“Oh, but she has one, for all her fair face,” he sneered.
It was all I could do to keep the point of my sword from his throat.