“First tell me, is it really true that that lady is the real Louise Barry?”
“It is true!” she replied, faintly, and shrinking from the fierce anger that leaped into those blue eyes as she acknowledged the truth.
“And you,” he exclaimed, in a low, deep voice of angry bitterness and scorn, “you are the daughter of the actress—you are Molly Trueheart!”
The ineffable scorn with which he named that name fired her soul as it always did with sharp resentment, and her eyes flashed with proud fire as she exclaimed:
“I am no longer Molly Trueheart, I am your wife, Mrs. Laurens.”
Louise Barry’s voice, sharp and clear and cruel, broke in maliciously:
“You are mistaken. Your marriage with Mr. Laurens being contracted under a false name and personality was illegal. You are therefore still Molly Trueheart, and he—is free—free as air!”
Cecil Laurens gave a quick start, and looked at Molly. Her face was white and wild with agony as she sprang from the sofa and fell down at his feet.
“It is not—it is not true!” she gasped, in an agonized voice. “Cecil, Cecil, I am your wife, you are my husband! Speak, tell her she speaks falsely!”
He was blindly, madly angry at the deception that had been practiced on him. In his bitter wrath and outraged pride he caught quickly at Louise Barry’s cue.