."

"Indeed! Why would I not, pray?" she inquired, with mocking
incredulity.

"Oh, because of a mere trifle in your code of morals--an insignificant
impediment."

"Tchut!" she exclaimed, contemptuously. "Do you think me quite an
idiot?"

"I think you would be much worse than an idiot if, in case of my
father's discarding you, you should move an inch toward obtaining
alimony or in the case of the coveted 'third.'"

"Pshaw! Why, pray?"

"Because you have not, and never can have, the shadow of a right to
either."

"Bah! why not?"

"Because--Alfred Whyte is living!"

She caught her breath and gazed at the speaker with great dilating blue
eyes.

"What--do--you--mean?" she faltered.

"Alfred Whyte, your husband of twenty years ago, is still living and
likely to live--a very handsome man of forty years old, residing at his
magnificent country seat, Whyte Hall, Dulwich, near London."

"Married again?" she whispered, hoarsely.

"Certainly not; an English gentleman does not commit bigamy."

"How did you--become acquainted--with these facts?"

"I was sufficiently interested in you to seek him out, when I was in
England. I discovered where he lived; also that he was looking out for
the best investment of his idle capital. I called on him personally in
the interests of our great enterprise. He is now a member of the London
syndicate."

"Did you speak--of me?"

"Never mentioned your name. How could I, knowing as I did of the
Stillwater episode in your story?"

"And he lives! Alfred Whyte lives! Oh, misery, misery, misery! Evil fate
has followed me all the days of my life," moaned Rose, wringing her
hands.

"Now, why should you take on so, because Whyte is living? Would you have
had that fine, vigorous man, in the prime of his life, die for your
benefit?"

"But I thought he was dead long ago."

"You were too ready to believe that, and to console yourself. He was
more faithful to your memory."

"How do you know? You said my name was never mentioned between you."

"Not from him, but from a mutual acquaintance, of whom I asked how it
was that Mr. Whyte had never married, I heard that he had grieved for
her out of all reason and had ever remained faithful to the memory of
his first and only love. My own inference was, and is, that the report
of your death was got up by his friends to break off the connection."

"And you never told this 'mutual friend' that I still lived?"

"How could I, my dear, with my