s Maud Clear: my wife's name is Lydia."

"Did Mrs. Clear say you were her husband, Michael?"

"Yes. She called me Michael Clear, and brought me to stay with the
doctor. But I am not Michael Clear!"

CHAPTER XXVI

THE OTHER MAN'S WIFE

As soon as Lucian arrived back in his rooms he sat down at his desk and
wrote a long letter to Diana, giving a full account of his extraordinary
discovery of her father in Jorce's asylum, and advising her to come up
at once to London.

When he posted this--which he did the same night--he sighed to think it
was not a love letter. He could have covered reams of paper with words
of passion and adoration; he could have poured out his whole soul at the
feet of his divinity, telling her of his love, his aspirations, his
hopes and fears. No doubt, from a common-sense view, the letter would
have been silly enough, but it would have relieved his mind and
completed his happiness of knowing that he loved and was beloved.

But in place of writing thus, he was compelled by his promise to Diana
to pen a description of his late discovery, and interesting as the case
was now growing, he found it irksome to detail the incident of the
afternoon. He wished to be a lover, not a detective.

So absent-minded and distraught was Lucian, that Miss Greeb, who had
long suspected something was wrong with him, spoke that very evening
about himself. She declared that Lucian was working too hard, that he
needed another rest, although he had just returned from the country, and
recommended a sleeping draught. Finally she produced a letter which had
just arrived, and as it was in a female hand, Miss Greeb watched its
effect on her admired lodger with the keen eyes of a jealous woman. When
she saw him flush and seize it eagerly, casting, meanwhile, an impatient
look on her to leave the room, she knew the truth at once, and retired
hurriedly to the kitchen, where she shed floods of tears.

"I might have guessed it," gasped Miss Greeb to a comfortable cat which
lay selfishly before the fire. "He's far too good-looking not to be
snapped up. He'll be leaving me and setting up house with that other
woman. I only hope she'll do for him as well as I have done. I wonder if
she's beautiful and rich. Oh, how dreadful it all is!" But the cat made
no comment on this tearful address--not as much as a mew. It rolled over
into a warmer place and went to sleep again. Cats are particularly
selfish animals.

Two days afte