"Whose face is this?" he repeated.
"It is—good Heavens!—it is the face of your portrait. It is Claude's face again. They are his very eyes—" She covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Arnold, what is it! Who is this other?"
"This other lady, Clara, is a Music-Hall Singer, who calls herself Carlotta Claridane, wife of this man, who is not an American at all, but the grandson of Mr. Emblem, the bookseller, and therefore cousin of Iris. It is he who robbed his grandfather of the papers which you have in your possession, Clara. And this is an audacious conspiracy, which we have been so fortunate as to unearth and detect, step by step."
"Oh, can such wickedness be?" said Clara; "and in my house, too?"
"Joe," said Lotty, "the game is up. I knew it wouldn't last."
"Let them prove it," said Joe; "let them prove it. I defy you to prove it."
"Don't be a fool, Joe," said his wife. "Remember," she whispered, "you've got a pocketful of money. Let us go peaceably."
"As for you, Nigger," said Joe, "I'll break every bone in your body."
"Not here," said Arnold; "there will be no breaking of bones in this house."
Lotty began to laugh.