‘And therefore you consider she is quite safe.’ ‘She is my sister, sir.’ ‘And your father’s daughter.’ ‘You will drive me wild between you all,’ cried Stephen. ‘My dear boy, it’s for your own sake.’ ‘All the damnable things done under heaven are done for my sake it would seem.’ ‘Have you no regard for duty? Would you like to see your sister fall a victim to this swindler?’ ‘She must be told he is married, of course.’ ‘And that he is a low cad no gentleman would associate with.’ ‘Yes, Clausen, yes, anything you like--anything you like. Be off with you and tell her all you told me and all I have told you. Be off now, no time like the present.’ ‘Stop a bit! not so fast, my young friend. I want a little more explanation from you first. You say he is married. Where does he conceal his wife?’ ‘She is at Old Windsor.’ ‘You have made several excursions there lately. What is she like?’ ‘Oh, young and pretty; much too good for him.’ ‘Too vague, my boy, describe her.’ ‘I don’t know how to describe her.’ ‘Well, is she dark or fair, tall or short?’ ‘She’s dark. No though, her hair is black and curly, and her eyes are brown, but she has a most beautifully fair complexion. As you sit and watch her reading, you wonder which is the whitest, the little bit of neck shown behind her ear, or the white lawn stuff she ties round her throat.’ ‘Is she tall?’ ‘About a head shorter than I am; I suppose that is tallish for a woman. Yes, she’s tall, and very, very graceful. She walks beautifully, makes you remember all the old bits of poetry you learned at school.’ ‘How does he treat her?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘How’s that?’ ‘I have never seen them together.’ ‘But----’ ‘She lives at the cottage, he at the house.’ ‘He isn’t married to her.’ ‘Oh yes, he is; I made him confess.’ ‘What was she?’ ‘An actress.’ ‘No good, of course.’ ‘Why?’ ‘He’d be making money out of her if she were.’ ‘Her name was Grace Lovell.’ ‘What! that little girl? Why, she’s got the makings of a great actress in her. How comes he to be so shortsighted as to let her remain idle?’ ‘He tells me she’s not good enough.’ ‘Much he knows! Why, she’s delicious; so fresh, so spontaneous. She’d take the town in no time. How old is she?’ ‘About twenty or twenty-one.’ ‘Well, to think that rascal has got hold of her. I was wondering only the other day what had become of her, and I asked Horsham what made him part with her. He said she had insisted on leaving, and he fancied she’d gone abroad with some man.’ ‘I wish to God she had! Anything would be better for her than being tied to such a devil as that.’ Then Kirkdale asked suddenly, ‘By the way, didn’t you say Travers was the son of that old rascal Swanwick?’