l was dead, but I was frightened, and
I wanted to get away from Paris. Sir John heard gossip about us--about
Anna the recluse, a paragon of virtue, and Annabel alias 'Alcide' a
dancer at the _cafes chantants_, and concerning whom there were many
stories which were false, and a few--which were true. I--well, I
borrowed Anna's name. I made her my unwilling confederate. Sir John
followed me to London and married me. To this day he and every one
else thinks that he married Anna.

"Act three. Anna comes to London. She is poor, and she will take
nothing from my husband, the man she had deceived for my sake, and he,
on his part, gravely disapproves of her as 'Alcide.' She tries every
way of earning a living and fails. Then she goes to a dramatic agent.
Curiously enough nothing will persuade him that she is not 'Alcide.'
He believes that she denies it simply because owing to my marriage
with Sir John, whom they call the 'Puritan Knight,' she wants to keep
her identity secret. He forces an engagement upon her. She never calls
herself 'Alcide.' It is the Press who find her out. She is the image
of what I was like, and she has a better voice. Then enter Mr. Hill
again--alive. He meets Anna, and claims her as his wife. It is Anna
again who stands between me and ruin."

"I cannot let you go on," Ennison interrupted. "I believe that I can
give you great news. Tell me where the fellow Hill took you for this
marriage ceremony."

"It was behind the Place de Vendome, on the other side from the Ritz."

"I knew it," Ennison exclaimed. "Cheer up, Annabel. You were never
married at all. That place was closed by the police last month. It was
a bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an
Englishman. Everything was done in the most legal and imposing way,
but the whole thing was a fraud."

"Then I was never married to him at all?" Annabel said.

"Never--but, by Jove, you had a narrow escape," Ennison exclaimed.
"Annabel, I begin to see why you are here. Think! Had you not better
hurry back before Sir John discovers? You are his wife right enough.
You can tell me the rest another time."

She smiled faintly.

"The rest," she said, holding tightly to his hands, "is the most
important of all. You came to me, you wished me to speak to Anna. I
went to her rooms to-night. There was no one at home, and I was coming
away when I saw that the door was open. I decided to go in and wait.
In her sitting-room I found Montague Hil