Arnold turned, and for the first time looked steadily at the speaker. It was evident that the words had had no meaning for him, but there was a curious, apparently causeless animosity and distrust in her steady eyes which arrested his attention and aroused in him emotions of a like nature. It was as though unconsciously they had hated each other before all time, and that the hatred had now become a definite recognisable quality. "You spoke of Frau von Arnim," he said. "I am afraid I do not quite understand." Hildegarde shrugged her shoulders. The movement was slightly insolent and utterly at variance with her usual gentle courtesy, but, like all nervous invalids, she could be goaded beyond all self-control, and something in this man’s manner jarred on her as presumptuous, overbearing, suggesting an impertinent familiarity with the woman who was Wolff’s wife. "I think you must undoubtedly have missed your letters," she said; "otherwise you would know that Miss Ingestre ceased to exist many months ago." The next minute she regretted her own clumsiness. The man’s whole bearing and expression had changed. His face was livid; it was obvious that he had a hard task to control an extraordinary agitation. "You must think me very stupid," he said, and his voice was painful to listen to. "I beg of you to speak more clearly. You will perhaps understand what it means to me when I tell you what you seem not to know—that Miss Ingestre is to be my wife." "Captain Arnold, you are labouring under some strange delusion. Miss Ingestre is already married." It was Frau von Arnim who spoke. She had advanced almost unconsciously, and now stood half-way between him and Hildegarde, who had risen to her feet. Arnold said nothing. His eyes were fixed full on Frau von Arnim’s face, but his expression was absolutely blank, and he did not seem to see her. She waited, too disturbed to move farther forward along the path of inevitable explanation, and after a minute, in which the man’s whole moral strength seemed to be concentrated in the fight for self-mastery, Arnold himself broke the silence. "I can only believe that there is a misapprehension on both sides," he said. "Are you speaking of Miss Nora Ingestre?" "Of Miss Nora Ingestre that was." "And you say she is already married?" "In April—five months ago." "To whom?" "To Hauptmann von Arnim, at present officer on the Staff at Berlin." "You are sure of what you say? There is no possible mistake?" Frau von Arnim’s brows contracted proudly. For a brief moment she had sympathised with, and even pitied, his agitation. His rigid self-control, entailing as it did an increased abruptness of manner, impressed her disagreeably, hiding from her usually keen eyes the fact that the man was really suffering. She answered therefore, with considerable haughtiness: