burst, but he
checked himself. He laid his hand more or less familiarly on Beatrice's
arm, and she could feel his fingers trembling.

"Very well," he said sulkily. "If you have made up your minds as to this
course, I have no more to say. But there is nothing to gain by standing
here all day. Beatrice, I have something to say to you."

"I am quite ready," Beatrice said. "I have also something to say to you.
We will go on as far as my sitting-room. Please don't leave the hotel,
Colonel Berrington; I may want you again."

The hard corners of Richford's mouth trembled, but he said nothing. He
did not utter a word until the door of the sitting-room had closed upon
Beatrice and himself. He motioned the girl to a chair, but she ignored
the suggestion.

"It is a very awkward situation," Richford began. "As my wife----"

"I am glad you have come so quickly to the point," Beatrice said
eagerly. "Am I your wife? I doubt it. I do not think I am your wife,
because the ceremony was not quite completed and we did not sign the
register. You know what my feelings have been all along; I have never
made the slightest attempt to disguise them. If I had known that my
father was dead--that he had died on the way to church, I should never
have become Mrs. Stephen Richford. To save my father's good name I had
consented to this sacrifice. My father is dead beyond the reach of
trouble. If I had only known. If I had only known!"

The words came with a fierce whisper. They stung the listener as no
outburst of contempt or scorn could. They told him clearly how the
speaker loathed and despised him.

"Nobody did know," he sneered. "Nobody could possibly have known."

"That is not true," Beatrice cried. She had come a little closer to
Richford; her cheeks were blazing with anger, her eyes flamed
passionately. "It is a cowardly lie. There was one man who saw my father
after his death, and I am going to prove the fact in a way that cannot
possibly be disputed. One man was in my father's room after his death.
That man saw my father lying there, and he crept away without giving
the slightest alarm. You may sneer, you may say that such a thing is
impossible, that the man I allude to would have nothing to gain by such
a course; but as I said before, I am going to prove it. Look at this
telegram I hold in my hand. It was sent before ten o'clock to-day to the
person to whom it is addressed. It evidently relates to some Stock
Exchange business. The ad