“I noticed when you met and he descended from the trap that he was not your friend.”
“What caused you to suspect that?” she inquired quickly.
“The man’s face betrayed his feeling towards you. He is your enemy.”
“Yes,” she answered slowly, as though carefully weighing each word; “he is my enemy—my bitterest enemy.”
“Why?”
“Because I have a firm suspicion that he has discovered the secret of my marriage—that he alone knows who my unknown husband really is.”
And turning her wonderful eyes to mine, her troubled breast slowly rose and fell.
When, oh, when should I succeed in solving the maddening problem and be free to make confession of the truth?