Betty’s eyes blazed at him wrathfully. “It is your privilege to insult a woman, I presume—one of your prequisites as sheriff of the County.”
Trenholm smiled. “Put it that way, if you wish,” he said, in entire good nature. “By the terms of Paul’s will you inherit nothing if you marry after his death; but, as his widow, the law allows you one third of his estate, irrespective of any will,” he paused—“or any marriage thereafter.”
Betty rose and dropped him a curtsy, and Miriam, watching her with a critic’s eye, saw no tremor in hands or lips and no evasive glance. “You make me out a very clever woman,” Betty said. “I thank you.”
Trenholm bowed. “There is only one flaw in your reasoning,” he said. “You did not marry Paul Abbott.”
Betty stared at him, astounded. “Are you mad!” she gasped. “Why, Miss Ward witnessed the marriage!”
“I beg pardon, but I was not in the room,” interrupted Miriam. “Doctor Nash sent me to get a lamp and I returned just as he completed the marriage ceremony.”
Betty surveyed them both scornfully. “What is this—collusion?” she demanded.
“No, just statements of facts,” retorted Trenholm. “When Miss Ward returned to this room after seeing you depart, she went over to the bed and found, not Paul, but a stranger lying there.”
Betty sank back in her chair. Her face was ghastly. There was no make-believe in her emotion and her half-fainting condition was genuine. With a word of explanation, Miriam bolted out of the room, to return a second later with smelling salts. Betty accepted them with a broken word of thanks.
“I don’t understand,” she began, glancing piteously from one to the other. “You found a strange man in Paul’s bed just after I left?”