"Yes; just so; Benjamin Carr," assented Mrs. Dundyke, in a tone that seemed to say she expected the words. "I recognised you, Benjamin Carr, on the last day of your stay in Geneva, when you were giving me that false order on Leadenhall Street. From the moment I first saw you, the morning after we arrived at Geneva, your eyes puzzled me. I _knew_ I had seen them somewhere before, and I told my poor husband so; but I could not recollect where. In the hour of your leaving, the recollection came to me; and I knew that the eyes were those of Benjamin Carr, or eyes precisely similar to his. I thought it must be the latter; I could not suppose that Squire Carr's son, a gentleman born and reared----" But here a startling interruption intervened. It suddenly occurred to Miss Lizzie Fauntleroy, amidst the general confusion outward and inward, that the Mr. Hardcastle who had figured in the dark and disgraceful story, was said to have been accompanied by a wife. Considering that he was now designing to confer that honour upon her, the reflection was not agreeable. Miss Lizzie came to a hasty conclusion, that the real Mrs. Carr must be lying _perdue_ somewhere, while he prosecuted his designs upon herself and her money, conveniently ignoring the result of what he might be running his head wholesale into--a prosecution for bigamy. She went butting at him, her voice raised to a shriek, her nails out, alarmingly near to his face. "You false, desperate, designing villain! You dare to come courting me as a single man! You nearly drew me into a marriage! Where's your wife? Where's your wife, villain?" _This_ charge was a mistaken one, and Ben Carr somewhat rallied his scared senses. "It is false," he said. "I swear on my honour that I have no wife; I swear that I never have had one." "You had your wife with you in Geneva," said Mrs. Dundyke. "She was not my wife. Lizzie Fauntleroy, can't you believe me? I have never married yet. I never thought of marrying until I saw you." "It's all the same now," said Lizzie, with equanimity. "I don't like tricks played me. Better that I should have discovered this before marriage than after." "It is false, on my honour. You will not allow it to make any difference to our----" "Not allow it to make any difference," interposed Lizzie, imperiously cutting short his words. "Do you take me for a fool, Ben Carr? _You've_ seen the last of me, I can tell you that; and if pa were living still, he should prosecute you for getting my consent to a marriage under false pretences." "If I do not prosecute you, Benjamin Carr," resumed Mrs. Dundyke, "you owe it partly to my consideration for your family, partly to the unhappy fact that it could not bring my poor husband back to life. It could not restore to him the mental power he lost, the faculties that were destroyed. It could not bring back to me my lost happiness. How far you may have been guilty, I know not. It must rest with your conscience, and so shall your punishment."