"I am afraid you will find that you have reckoned without your host, madam," the man at length retorted, for he was stung to the soul with the covert threat which had suggested the possibility that he, Gerald Goddard, the noted artist, the distinguished society man, and princely entertainer, might be made to figure conspicuously in a criminal court under a charge that would brand him for all time.
"Ah! how so?" quietly inquired his companion.
"No power on earth would ever have compelled me to relinquish it, Mr. Forsyth's assurance to the contrary notwithstanding."
The man paused, to see what effect this assertion would have upon his listener; but she made no response—she simply sat quietly regarding him, while a curious little smile hovered about her beautiful mouth.
"You look skeptical," Mr. Goddard continued, gazing at her searchingly; "but let me tell you that you will find it no easy matter to prove the statements you have made—no person of common sense would credit your story."
"Indeed! But have you not already admitted that you received the certificate of which Mr. Forsyth told me?"
"Yes; but we have been here alone, with no witness to swear to what has passed between us. However, as I have already told you, Anna stole the paper from me years ago, and I have never seen it since."
"Yes, I know you told me so!"
"Do you not believe me?"
"I think my past relations with you have not served to establish a feeling of excessive confidence in you," was the quietly ironical response.