“I was mad enough for anything--at first! When I took her away from Lady Parr’s,” he said coolly. “But I drew the line at that, more by good luck than good management. At first I thought the marriage legal enough, but then I found the man who did it was only a student--no more ordained than you or I, though he’s since become a priest. Oh, I’m perfectly eligible, my dear sir,” with another slight laugh. “But though I see excellent reasons for my marrying this particular girl, I’m not in much haste. She looks too much of a tiger-cat, for one thing! Now, the late Mrs. Erle had faults, but she was never more gentle than when she was in a furious rage.” “What became of her?” asked Egerton shortly. “Don’t know, and don’t care. I don’t see why you should, either, when you were always at me to get rid of her. But that’s beside the question. What you don’t seem to see is that you can’t hurry this girl. She shies off if I look at her. You’re always too nippy. You shoved her off here to get rid of her, and then tore your hair because you’d done it. Let me remind you, it was I put you on her track in the first place; without me, you’d never have put a finger on her. You chose to treat me as a fool, and sneaked her off here. Then when you see that a certain Spanish grandee is dead and--oh, don’t interrupt me; there is not a soul about--has left all his money to a certain lady or her heirs, and that those heirs are being advertised for, you fall on my neck and beseech me to save your credit and your acres. Well, it suits me well enough! I fancy the girl. But I’m going to do it in my own way. So far, I beg to tell you, you’ve made a mess of it, in yours.” “Raimond!” the man’s voice was furious. “Don’t play the fool, don’t dare. You don’t know all that hangs on it. It’s not the money only, nor even the succession, it’s----” his voice dropped so low that even Andria, whose very soul was listening, could not hear. “What!” cried Erle, startled for once. “But she dare not tell, there!” “No; we’ve got her in our hands in a way--but only in a way. She--Mother Felicitas, they call her now,” with that uncontrollable, jarring laugh of his, “has long claws! She will want the money, too, to go to the convent--and the Lord knows she’ll have to pay well for her seat in heaven!” “But why,” said Raimond, stupefied, “if you knew about her all along, didn’t you have her out of the convent long ago?” “With publicity--back debts to pay up--to take you or leave you as seemed good to the half-fledged brat! No! And I couldn’t have got her. If you will have it, I’d been taken in. That woman held her over my head till I found her--and I didn’t know about the money till I got back from here. Before that, if I’d claimed her, I’d have brought out old stories, ruined myself, ousted you or saddled you with a penniless wife.”