Annesley’s face flushed with fierce resentment. What business had the viscount with him? He paused, irresolute, then said, suddenly, “I will see him.” With a fond glance of assurance toward Theresa, he stepped into the anteroom beyond, softly closing the door of the dining-room behind him. “I have no doubt that you are somewhat surprised to see me here, Sir Harold Annesley,” Rivington said, in his smooth, bland tones, rising quickly from a seat in the corner next to the door. “You will not take my hand? Well, I cannot help it if you are determined to be unfriendly. I came to congratulate you upon your recent marriage, and the recovery of your memory, though I cannot say that either event has made you particularly robust or joyful in appearance!” “What is your business with me?” Annesley demanded, steadily. “I came as a friend--an old acquaintance,” Rivington said. “I never recognized you as a friend, and I have no desire for your acquaintance, viscount,” was the cold reply. “Your impertinence would be amusing if it were not irritating.” Rivington laughed sneeringly. “Well, if you will not accept my friendship, I cannot help it,” he said. “I hate to be bad friends with any one.” “Your friendship and enmity are equally indifferent to me,” retorted Annesley, raising his voice; “and I should advise you to retire, or my servant must show you the door. I have nothing in common with gamblers and blacklegs.” He spoke so loudly that every word reached the ears of the trembling Theresa, and she crept near to the door, ready to push between her husband and the foe. It was not the detective; the man’s tones were strange to her. Who else was he but one of the fiends who was pursuing her with the relentless certainty of fate? “A gambler and a blackleg, am I?” cried Rivington, his voice full of concentrated rage. “Well, granted that I am, I think that you are the last man on earth to preach morality, Sir Harold Annesley! To be plain with you, I am here to warn you against intriguing with women to whom you have no right! Pray remember, also, that you are a married man!” “Scoundrel!” “Scoundrel to your teeth!” was the bitter retort. “The kisses of another woman are still fresh upon your lips! I heard your words of endearment, and as that woman belongs to me, I have a right to protest against your secret visits to my house----” “Your house!” cried Sir Harold, in a white heat of passion, his features working with a fury that he could hardly control. “Your house!” “Yes, my dear Annesley. There are the papers--agreements and receipts to prove it. Lady Elaine Seabright is under my protection, and I was not well pleased to discover that you had been poaching upon my preserves. I hate scandal, but I shall undeceive this trusting wife of yours unless----”