Still, there were a hundred "ifs" and possibilities in the way. Virgie might not be able to get satisfactory proofs; the child might not live; she might not live herself to accomplish her object; and she finally resolved to try to be satisfied with the success of her plot thus far, and not trouble herself about future developments. But that pale, beautiful face, with that resolute yet heart-broken look upon it, haunted her for years afterward. She was deeply thankful that Sadie was not there to see it, and she was resolved that they should not meet again.
That evening Virgie was waited upon by the proprietor of the house, who, with much stammering and many apologies, informed her that he was obliged to request her to vacate the rooms that she was occupying.
She understood instantly, but her proud spirit rebelled against this last indignity, and she arose and stood before him in all the majesty of her insulted womanhood.
"Sir! Mr. Eldridge! you will please explain this very extraordinary request," she said, meeting his eyes with a steady glance.
Mr. Eldridge hemmed, looked embarrassed, and remarked with all the blandness he could assume:
"Really, Mrs. ——, madam, I regret to pain you, and it might be as well to avoid explanations."
"No, sir; that is impossible; my husband left me here with the understanding that I should remain here until he came for me, and there must therefore be some very urgent reason for such a strange proceeding on your part."
"Yes, madam," said the man, driven to the wall. "—I—I have been informed that—that you are not Mrs. Heath at all; that the gentleman who brought you here was not what he represented himself to be."
"What authority have you for making such a statement Virgie demanded, haughtily:
"This," answered the hotel keeper, producing the paper containing the notice of the marriage at Heathdale which Mrs. Farnum had slyly laid upon his desk, with the marked paragraph uppermost. She was very careful, however, not to appear in the matter to commit herself.