The lady who accompanied, and who addressed him, was a year or two younger evidently, and almost as lovely as Star, Ralph thought, although her beauty was of a different style.
Archie Sherbrooke! There surely could not be two young men of the same age, handsome as one of the gods, and bearing the same name.
His heart had bounded into his throat as he heard it spoken, his face had flushed a painful crimson, while his hands instinctively clinched themselves in hot indignation, and he longed to confront the handsome traitor and denounce him for the villainous part he had played.
This, then, must be the man who had broken Star Gladstone’s heart and ruined her life; there was not a doubt of it in his own mind.
Yes, he was sure this was the Archibald Sherbrooke of whom Star had told him.
Who, then, was the woman who had been with him? Was it his wife?
He did not think she was his sister, for, except in the color of her hair, she did not resemble him in the least.
Were they Americans, and traveling, like himself, in the kingdom?
Perhaps, if they were married, they were thus spending the honeymoon; but they had spoken of “Lady Dunham” in a way to make him doubt that they were his countrymen.
Such thoughts as these tortured him, and he became possessed to seek out the young man and discover if he were indeed Star’s recreant lover.