The young wife grew pale.
"And did she not mention the fact of her brother's marriage?" she inquired in a faint voice.
"No such event in connection with him has ever been announced," returned the woman, ruthlessly. "His friends know nothing of it. Sir William Heath is believed by his friends to be a single man. More than this——"
Virgie stopped her with a gesture, but she was as white as new fallen snow as she arose, and going to her writing-desk, brought a letter, which she laid upon Mrs. Farnum's lap.
"There is his last letter to me," she said, but her lips were almost rigid as she spoke. "It will prove my statements."
Mrs. Farnum took it, and examined the envelope. It was directed to "Mrs. William Heath,——Hotel, New York City, U.S.A." It was post-marked at Heathdale. The handwriting was familiar, and she knew well enough that Sir William Heath had penned it.
"Mrs. William Heath!" she said, reading the name aloud. "He does not address you as Lady Heath, which is your proper title if you are his wife."
"Oh!" cried Virgie, with a shiver of pain, for those last words, implying a doubt of her position, hurt her like a knife. "Neither of us cared to be conspicuous while we were traveling, so my husband dropped his title," she explained.
"Ahem! that was a very strange proceeding. But does—does he say anything about coming for you, in this letter?" inquired her companion, who was burning with curiosity to know what it contained.
"You may read it if you like, Mrs. Farnum. I see that you are still in doubt about my being what I represent myself," Virgie returned, with some hauteur.