"You mean to deny that you have ever been through any form of marriage
before?" said Monck slowly.

"Of course I do!" Dacre uttered another angry laugh. "You must be a
positive fool to imagine such a thing. It's preposterous, unheard of!
Of course I have never been married before. What are you thinking of?"

Monck remained unmoved. "She has been a music-hall actress," he said.
"Her name is--or was--Madelina Belleville. Do you tell me that you have
never had any dealings whatever with her?"

Dacre laughed again fiercely, scoffingly. "You don't imagine that I
would marry a woman of that sort, do you?" he said.

"That is no answer to my question," Monck said firmly.

"Confound you!" Dacre blazed into open wrath. "Who the devil are you to
enquire into my private affairs? Do you think I am going to put up with
your damned impertinence? What?"

"I think you will have to." Monck spoke quitely, but there was deadly
determination in his words. "It's a choice of evils, and if you are wise
you will choose the least. Are you going to read the letter?"

Dacre stared at him for a moment or two with eyes of glowering
resentment; but in the end he put forth a hand not wholly steady and
took the sheet held out to him. Monck stood beside him in utter
immobility, gazing out over the valley with a changeless vigilance that
had about it something fateful.