‘Dearest, why did you get up?’ she cried. ‘How imprudent of you!’
‘I heard a voice raised as if threateningly. What has brought this man here—with you?’
‘He is the relation about whom you once questioned me, John,’ Laura answered, falteringly. ‘You have not forgotten?’
‘This man related to you?’ cried Treverton. ‘This man?’
‘Yes. You know each other?’
‘We have met before,’ answered Treverton, who had never taken his eyes from the other man’s face. ‘We last met under very painful circumstances. It is a surprise to find a relation of yours in Mr.——’
‘Mansfield,’ interrupted Desrolles. ‘I have changed the name of Malcolm for Mansfield—a name in my mother’s family—for Laura’s sake. It might be disadvantageous for her to own kindred with a man whom the world has played football with for the last ten years.’
Desrolles had grown ashy pale since the entrance of Laura’s husband, and the hand with which he poured out his third glass of brandy shook like a leaf.
‘Highly considerate on your part, Mr. Mansfield,’ replied John Treverton. ‘May I ask for what reason you have favoured my wife with this late visit?’
‘The usual motive that brings a poor relation to a rich man’s house. I want money, and Laura can afford to give it. Why beat about the bush?’