"Naturally! What would become of the Divorce Court if there wasn't? Yes, the other man did come along. A pink and white fool. My husband was a god compared to Silas Oates." "Then why did you run away with Oates?" "Why indeed! He attracted me in some way, I suppose, or I was sick of my humdrum married life. I don't know why I left even Rupert Pethram for such a fool as Silas. I did so, however. I gave up my name, my child, my money, all for what?--for a man that tired of me in less than six months, and left me to starve in San Francisco." "You didn't starve, however." "It is not my nature to act foolishly all my life. No, I did not starve. I had a good voice, which I managed to get trained. I had also a good idea of acting, so I made a success on the operatic stage as Madame Tagni." "Oh! are you the celebrated Madame Tagni?" "I was. Now I am Mrs. Belswin, of no occupation in particular. I sang in the States; I sang in New Zealand----" "You didn't sing in Dunedin?" "No, because my husband was there. Do you know why I came to New Zealand--a divorced, dishonoured woman? No, of course you don't. I came to see my child. I did see her, unknown to Rupert or to the child herself. I was in New Zealand a long time watching over my darling. Then I went again to the States, but I left friends behind me--good friends, who kept me posted up in all the news of my child Kaituna. Since I left her twenty years ago like a fool, I have known everything about her. I heard in New York how Rupert had lost all his money, owing to the decrease in the value of property. I heard his elder brother had died, and that he had come in for the title. He is Sir Rupert Pethram; I ought to be Lady Pethram." "But you're not," sneered Dombrain, unable to resist the opportunity. She flashed a savage glance at him and replied quietly. "No, I am Mrs. Belswin, that's enough for me at present. But to go on with my story. I heard how my husband had brought our child home to the old country, and leaving her there had returned to New Zealand on business. When this news reached me, I made up my mind at once and came over here. I found out--how, it matters not--that my husband's legal adviser was an old friend of mine, one Alfred Damberton----" "Hush! not that name here!" "Ah, I forgot. You are the respectable Mr. Alfred Dombrain now. But it was curious that I should find an old friend in a position so likely to be of use to me." "Use to you?" groaned Dombrain, savagely. "Yes; I have seen your advertisement in the paper for a companion for a young lady. Well, I have come to apply for the situation." "You?" "Yes. Personally, and not by letter as you suggested in print." Mr. Dombrain felt that he was in a fix, and therefore lied, with clumsy malignity. "That advertisement doesn't refer to your daughter." "Doesn't it?" said Mrs. Belswin sharply. "Then, why refer to my daughter at all just now?" "Because!--oh, because----"