‘Yes, you told me so yourself--that you went first to the only lodging in which your wife had been known as Mrs. Manston, and when you found that the lodging-house-keeper had gone away and died, and that nobody else in the street had any definite ideas as to your wife’s personal appearance, and came and proposed the arrangement we carried out--that I should personate her. Your taking all this trouble shows that something more serious than love had to do with the matter.’ ‘Humbug--what trouble after all did I take? When I found Cytherea would not stay with me after the wedding I was much put out at being left alone again. Was that unnatural?’ ‘No.’ ‘And those favouring accidents you mention--that nobody knew my first wife--seemed an arrangement of Providence for our mutual benefit, and merely perfected a half-formed impulse--that I should call you my first wife to escape the scandal that would have arisen if you had come here as anything else.’ ‘My love, that story won’t do. If Mrs. Manston was burnt, Cytherea, whom you love better than me, could have been compelled to live with you as your lawful wife. If she was not burnt, why should you run the risk of her turning up again at any moment and exposing your substitution of me, and ruining your name and prospects?’ ‘Why--because I might have loved you well enough to run the risk (assuming her not to be burnt, which I deny).’ ‘No--you would have run the risk the other way. You would rather have risked her finding you with Cytherea as a second wife, than with me as a personator of herself--the first one.’ ‘You came easiest to hand--remember that.’ ‘Not so very easy either, considering the labour you took to teach me your first wife’s history. All about how she was a native of Philadelphia. Then making me read up the guide-book to Philadelphia, and details of American life and manners, in case the birthplace and history of your wife, Eunice, should ever become known in this neighbourhood--unlikely as it was. Ah! and then about the handwriting of hers that I had to imitate, and the dying my hair, and rouging, to make the transformation complete? You mean to say that that was taking less trouble than there would have been in arranging events to make Cytherea believe herself your wife, and live with you?’ ‘You were a needy adventuress, who would dare anything for a new pleasure and an easy life--and I was fool enough to give in to you--’ ‘Good heavens above!--did I ask you to insert those advertisements for your old wife, and to make me answer it as if I was she? Did I ask you to send me the letter for me to copy and send back to you when the third advertisement appeared--purporting to come from the long-lost wife, and giving a detailed history of her escape and subsequent life--all which you had invented yourself? You deluded me into loving you, and then enticed me here! Ah, and this is another thing. How did you know the real wife wouldn’t answer it, and upset all your plans?’