“She has told your secret once.”
“She won’t tell it again.”
“Why not? Are her own interests concerned in keeping it, as well as yours?”
“Yes—deeply concerned.”
“I am glad to hear it, Percival, for your sake. Don’t be discouraged, my friend. Our money matters, as I told you, leave me plenty of time to turn round in, and I may search for Anne Catherick to-morrow to better purpose than you. One last question before we go to bed.”
“What is it?”
“It is this. When I went to the boat-house to tell Lady Glyde that the little difficulty of her signature was put off, accident took me there in time to see a strange woman parting in a very suspicious manner from your wife. But accident did not bring me near enough to see this same woman’s face plainly. I must know how to recognise our invisible Anne. What is she like?”
“Like? Come! I’ll tell you in two words. She’s a sickly likeness of my wife.”
The chair creaked, and the pillar shook once more. The Count was on his feet again—this time in astonishment.
“What!!!” he exclaimed eagerly.