“Do you think I would do that?” he demanded.
“How can I tell? Why should you not? I am in your power.”
There was no doubting the genuineness of her emotion. Formerly she had tricked him but here was her bared soul to see.
“I came here,” he said slowly, “angry because you had played upon my sympathies and outwitted me. I schemed to gain an entrance to this house for no other reason. I shall leave it admiring you and Monmouth and hoping you will be happy.”
It was as though she could scarcely believe him.
“Then you will not tell him?” she exclaimed. “You will go without that for which you came?”
She did not understand his smile.
“I shall not tell him,” Anthony Trent declared. “As for the rest—we are quits, Madame.”
At the hour when the real Oscar Lindholm left Blackwells Island the pretender was lovingly setting the fourth jewel in the Benares lamp. It would have been difficult to find two happier men in all America that morning.