She catches her breath--the tone, in which Sir Victor speaks, is a
tone not pleasant to hear. She is a thoroughly good little thing, but
the best of little things (being women) are _ergo_ dissemblers. For
a second she dares not face him; then she comes bravely up to time
and looks at him over her shoulder.

"Juan Catheron! Oh, to be sure. Is that picture here yet?" with a
little laugh. "I thought I had lost it centuries ago." "Good Heaven!"
she exclaims inwardly; "how _could_ I have been such a fool!"

Sir Victor rises to his feet--a curious passing likeness to his dark
cousin, Inez, on his fair blonde face. "Then you know Juan Catheron.
_You_! And you never told me."

"My dear Sir Victor," with a little pout, "don't be unreasonable. I
should have something to do, if I put you _au courant_ of all my
acquaintances. I knew Mr. Catheron--slightly," with a gasp. "Is there
any crime in that?"

"Yes!" Sir Victor answers, in a voice that makes his wife jump and his
son cry. "Yes--there is. I wouldn't own a dog--if Juan Catheron had
owned him before me. To look at him, is pollution enough--to know
him--disgrace!"

"Victor! Disgrace!"

"Disgrace, Ethel! He is one of the vilest, most profligate, most lost
wretches that ever disgraced a good name. Ethel, I command you to tell
me--was this man ever anything to you--friend--lover--what?"