‘An experience, monsieur, which very few husbands, I am afraid, would care to have brought home to themselves. You have an English proverb, “Out of sight, out of mind.” That is a very true proverb.’
‘Fie, fie! Mrs Boyd. You must not be so severe on us poor men. We are not all alike. Take your own case as an instance. You come back, from the tomb as it were, after I know not how many years, and find your husband still faithful to your memory.—Ah no; you must not malign us all.’
Was he mocking her, or what, this smiling, smooth-faced man? She was becoming more vaguely uneasy every minute, she scarcely knew why.
‘The sight of you this morning, Mrs Boyd,’ resumed the Baronet, ‘brings to my memory a certain little incident which I had all but forgotten. In those days, I was something of a traveller. About a year subsequently to my introduction to you, madam, I found myself in Mexico.’
Mrs Boyd could not repress a start, but she did not speak.
‘While there, singular to say, I made the acquaintance of a certain relative of yours, who inquired most particularly concerning your welfare.’
Mrs Boyd’s face might have been seen to pale even under its artificial colouring. She steadied her voice by an effort. ‘Of a relation of mine, monsieur! May I ask his name?’
‘Don Diego Riaz.’ He pronounced the name slowly, looking fixedly at her the while.
‘Ha!’ She fell back a step, as if some one had aimed a blow at her, and then one hand went up quickly to her heart. Both hatred and fear shone out of the eyes with which she stared at him.
‘By heavens! I have hit the mark,’ said the Baronet to himself.