"You have given me to understand," continued the earl, "that you were paying your addresses to Beatrice."
"Father, listen to me," muttered Ivar. "I was already married at the time when you pressed Beatrice's name upon me, and seeing how earnestly you were set upon the match I—I lacked the courage to—to state the truth."
Lorelie heard her husband's words with secret contempt. The craven was almost apologizing for marrying her! With an effort she controlled her feelings, and remained silent.
Casting a contemptuous glance at his son the earl turned, and with a coldly critical eye surveyed his new daughter-in-law. Yes, she was undeniably beautiful, with an exquisite taste in dress; and bore herself with the air and dignity of a princess; clearly an ornament to Ravenhall, provided only that her antecedents were above the criticism of Society.
"And who and whence is the lady that now bears Viscount Walden's name?" he asked.
"My name is Lorelie, née Rochefort."
"Rochefort?" repeated the earl, with a sharp intonation on the word.
"I am the daughter of Captain Noel Rochefort, of Nantes."
The earl's sudden start did not escape her attentive eyes. It seemed to give confirmation to her suspicion.