always
seems to me that Tochatti is more than half Italian. Do you agree with
me?"

"I do--and that's why I distrust her," returned Sir Richard grimly. "I
confess I don't like the women of the Latin races--those of the lower
classes, anyway. A woman of that sort who is supplanted by a rival is
about the most dangerous being on the face of the earth. She sticks at
nothing--carries a knife in her garter, a phial of poison in her
handbag, and will quite cheerfully sacrifice her own life if she may
mutilate or destroy the aforesaid hated rival."

"So I have always understood. But in this case, if you will excuse me
pointing it out, there is no possibility of love entering into it. To
begin with, Tochatti is a middle-aged woman; and of course there could
not be any question of rivalry between her and her mistress."

"Oh, of course not. I was speaking generally," Sir Richard reminded him.
"But there are other reasons for jealousy besides the primary reason,
love. You know, in the case of these last letters, which are certainly
actuated by some very real spite against you ... why, what's the matter
now?" For Anstice had uttered an exclamation which sounded almost
exultant.

"By Jove, sir, I believe I've got it--the reason why the woman should
feel spiteful towards me!" In his excitement he threw away his cigar,
half-smoked, and Sir Richard, noting the action, guessed that an
important revelation was at hand.

"You've got it, eh?" Sir Richard sat upright in his chair. "Well, may I
hear it? It's no secret, I suppose?"

"Secret? Heavens, no--but how intensely stupid I've been not to think of
it before!"

"Go on--you're rousing my curiosity," said Sir Richard as Anstice came
to a sudden stop. "Tell me how on earth you have managed to rouse the
woman's spite. Personally, seeing how cleverly you pulled her adored
Cherry through that illness of hers, I should have thought she would
have extended her devotion to you."

"That's just how the trouble began," rejoined Anstice quickly. "You
remember how the child set herself on fire one night in September?"

"Yes--on the night before Iris' wedding day." In spite of himself
Anstice winced, and the other man noted the fact and wondered. "Set fire
to herself with a candle, didn't she?"

"Yes--and Tochatti put out the flames somehow, burning one of her hands
in the process."

"Did she? I had forgotten that."

"Yes--with the result that she was not able to take her fair share o