"that Mr. John Usselex has a wife living in Paris."

Mr. Menemon smoothed the back of his head reflectively. "Dear me!" he
said; "that may all be. I daresay there are hundreds of John Usselexes.
You don't expect them to remain bachelors because one of their name-sake
gets married, do you?" And with that he nodded and turned with a smile
to his daughter. "He can't expect that, Eden, can he?"

But Eden's eyes were fixed on Usselex. Her attention was wholly centered
in him. Seemingly her father's words were unheeded. And the old
gentleman turned again to Maule.

"What evidence have you that this John Usselex is the John Usselex of
whom you speak?" he asked; and with the hand with which he had smoothed
the back of his head, he now began to caress his chin.

But before Maule could answer, Eden caught her father by the arm. "His
face!" she whispered quickly. "You can see it in his face." She pointed
to him; in her eyes was conviction, and in her voice no tremor of doubt.
"Look at him," she cried; "it is he."

Usselex turned to her in a manner which to those present was
uninterpretable, then his eyes sought Mr. Menemon's, and finally he
lowered them to the ground. His attitude was tantamount to admission,
and as such Eden construed it.

"Thank God!" she exclaimed. "O God! I thank you. I am free." She still
clutched her father's arm, and Maule made a movement toward her.

"Yes," he said, as he did so, "yes, Miss Menemon----"

But before he could reach her, Usselex barred the way. "By what right,
sir--" he began, very firmly, but Eden interrupted him.

"I told you once that I thought Miss Bolten was interested in him. Let
me tell you now he is in love with me."

"Eden, Eden--" her father murmured, reprovingly. Into Usselex' face came
an expression that a demon might have envied. For a second he fronted
Maule, his hand clenched. Then the fingers loosened again. The demon was
transformed into a quiet, self-possessed man, that looked like a monk, a
trifle valetudinarian at that.

"Madam," he said, "when a woman speaks in that way to the man whose name
she bears, there is but one thing for him to do, and that is to
withdraw." He bowed, and without further comment left the room.

"I don't bear your name," Eden called after him, but he had gone. "I
don't bear your name; I throw it to the mud from which it sprang."

"And you are right, Miss Menemon," Maule echoed. "You are right to do
so." And again he moved to her.

"