"If you mean Sir Victor Catheron," answers a voice, "I think I can
tell you. You married Sir Victor Catheron because he _was_ Sir Victor
Catheron. But it isn't a marriage, my dear--you know that. A young
lady can't have two husbands, and I'm your legal, lawful-wedded
spouse."

She utters a cry--she recoils with a face of terror, for there in the
twilight before her, tall, black, sinister, stands Juan Catheron.

"_You_!" she gasps.

"I, my dear--I, in the flesh. Did you think I had gone? My dear Ethel,
so I would have gone, if Inez had come down in the sisterly way she
should. But she hasn't. I give you my word of honor her conduct has
been shabby in the extreme. A few hundreds--I asked no more--and she
wouldn't. What was a miserly fifty pun' note to a man like me, with
expensive tastes, and who has not set foot on British soil for two
years? Not a jewel would she part with--all Sir Victor's presents,
forsooth! And she's in love with Sir Victor, you know. Perhaps you
_don't_ know, though. 'Pon my life, she is, Ethel, and means to have
him yet, too. That's what she says, and she is a girl to do as she
says, is Inez. That's why I'm here to-night, my dear. I can't go to
Sir Victor, you understand--motives of delicacy, and all that--so
I waited my chance, and have come to you. You may be fickle, but I
don't think you're stingy. And something is due to my outraged
feelings, blighted affections, and all that. Give me five hundred
pounds, Ethel, and let us call it square."

He came nearer, his big, brown hand outstretched. She shrank away,