If she had spoken truly, Mrs. Trelane would have said her evil genius. Instead, her eyes glittered for one instant in surprise. What had brought him, whom three years ago she had shaken off forever? “Marcus Wray?” she said unbelievingly. “What could he want?” “You. Oh, what a hideous man! He is like a toad, a snake!” “Hush!” The woman whispered angrily. “He might hear, and he’s the man I meant; the only man in London who will buy those diamonds. Bring him here, it’s the only warm place in the house.” Ismay glanced at the untidy breakfast, not cleared away, the disorder of the luxuriously furnished room; and Mrs. Trelane laughed. “He has seen worse,” she remarked quietly. “Bring him.” “I won’t stay in the room with him! He makes me sick.” “No one wants you to,” said her mother, yet as she looked in the glass at her own worn beauty she felt a tinge of uneasiness. There was something uncanny about this visit from a man she had not seen for three years; his coming just when she had need of him. She wished she could know what it meant. But as he entered, immaculately dressed as she remembered him, Mrs. Trelane greeted him as if he were her dearest friend. “You don’t mind my having you in here?” she said simply. “It is the only fire. And where have you been all this time--do you know it is years since you have remembered me?” “It is years since I have seen you,” he corrected her, “but you are just the same. But the girl, your daughter”--the door had banged behind him when he entered, making him smile covertly--“is not the same. She is beautiful, though not like you; nor”--thoughtfully--“like Trelane.” Mrs. Trelane bit her lip. “Did you come to compliment me on my child?” she said prettily. “How nice of you!” Marcus Wray took a chair by the fire, though his hostess was standing. “No,” he answered carelessly, his sharp, narrow eyes wandering round the dusty costliness of the room. “No, I came--because you needed me.” “Needed you. I?” Every bit of color left her face; her uneasiness had been well founded then; it was not chance that brought Marcus Wray. He nodded. “I thought so; perhaps I’m wrong. But this morning I felt certain that if I did not come to see you, you would come to me; so I saved you the trouble. By the way”--he pulled something from his overcoat pocket and held it out to her--“have you seen this morning’s _Herald_?” Mrs. Trelane, standing by the table, put a sudden hand on it, as if her strength had failed her. “You have, I see. Well!--sit down, you can talk better.” He pushed a chair to her with his foot, contemptuously. “I have seen the paper--yes, of course! But what of it?” She had not stirred to take the chair. The last time she had seen Marcus Wray she had dictated to him--had he waited all this time to avenge himself? “I thought you’d like to sell them. It’s not safe, you know, to have them.” “Sell what? Have what? I don’t know what you mean!” she panted.