“I have not treated her with sufficient consideration,” said Wiggins. “I misunderstood her character. I began altogether wrong. I see now that I ought to have given her more of my confidence, or, better yet, that I ought not to have brought her here till the work was done. Well,” he added, with a sigh, “my chief consolation is that it will be all right in the end.”
“This is all rubbish,” said Leon. “You are not what you pretend to be. You are not her guardian. You are an interloper and a swindler. You shall remain here no longer. I am her husband, and I order you off the premises at once.”
“You are not her husband, and I am her guardian,” said Wiggins, calmly. “I was appointed by her father on his death-bed.”
“I don't believe it. Besides, your name is not Wiggins at all.”
“How do you know? You know nothing.”
{Illustration: DOTARD! DO YOU TALK OF VENGEANCE?}
“I know Wiggins.”
“Wiggins of Liverpool, perhaps, but there are more Wigginses in the world than that.”
“A court of law will show that—”
“You will not go to a court of law. That is my task. And mark me,” continued Wiggins, with thrilling emphasis, “when a court of law takes up the subject of the Dalton estates or the Dalton name, then it will be the turn for you and yours to tremble.”