Dacres paused here, rubbed his hand violently over his hair at the place where the scar was, and then, frowning heavily, resumed:
"Well, this afternoon I called again. They were at home. On entering I found three ladies there. One was Lady Dalrymple, and the others were Minnie and her friend Ethel—either her friend or her sister. I think she's her sister. Well, I sat for about five minutes, and was just beginning to feel the full sense of my happiness, when the door opened and another lady entered. Hawbury"—and Dacres's tones deepened into an awful solemnity—"Hawbury, it was the lady that I saw in the carriage yesterday. One look at her was enough. I was assured then that my impressions yesterday were not dreams, but the damnable and abhorrent truth!"
"What impressions—you haven't told me yet, you know?"
"Wait a minute. I rose as she entered, and confronted her. She looked at me calmly, and then stood as though expecting to be introduced. There was no emotion visible whatever. She was prepared for it: I was not: and so she was as cool as when I saw her last, and, what is more, just as young and beautiful."
"The devil!" cried Hawbury.
"I STOOD TRANSFIXED."
Dacres poured out another glass of ale and drank it. His hand trembled slightly as he put down the glass, and he sat for some time in thought before he went on.
"Well, Lady Dalrymple introduced us. It was Mrs. Willoughby!"
"By Jove!" cried Hawbury. "I saw you were coming to that."