“You seem to forget, my dear—or rather, perhaps, I ought to say that you fail sufficiently to realise in your thoughts—the position which is, or ought to be, yours by right of your marriage with the late John Alexander Clare. You are the widow of the heir of Withington Chase, the daughter-in-law of a wealthy baronet of ancient family. As such, your proper position is there—there, as one of the glittering throng passing and repassing before our eyes. You ought to be riding in your own brougham or barouche, with your own coachman and footman. You ought to be wearing the family diamonds—who has so much right to them as you?—and where is there another woman who would show them off to better advantage? You ought to have your own little establishment in town, with your own servants—say, a flat of six or seven rooms somewhere in Belgravia, where you could invite your old uncle to come and see you as often as you might feel inclined for his company. I repeat, that all these things ought of right to be yours.” Giovanna’s nostrils dilated, a hard cold glitter came into her eyes, her bosom began to rise and fall more quickly than it was wont to do; there was a chord in her somewhat lymphatic nature which responded to her uncle’s words. Her own diamonds, her own carriage, her own establishment in London, and, above all, to be transformed from a nobody into a Somebody, and to have the great world of rank and fashion recognise her as one of themselves! Oh, it was too much! The vision was too dazzling. A low cry, half of pain, half of pleasure, broke from her. The Captain was watching her out of a corner of his eye. But presently a chill struck her and her face blanched a little. Turning to Verinder, she said: “But you seem to have forgotten, Uncle, that Sir Gilbert Clare does not so much as know of my existence—nay, the chances are that he was not even aware that his son was ever married.” “But I mean him to be made aware both of one fact and the other before he is very much older,” responded the Captain with a sinister smile. “Ah! a spot or two of rain. We had better be moving.” Then, as they rose: “There is only one course open to us, Vanna _mia_,” he whispered meaningly, “and that is, to _find_ Sir Gilbert an heir.” CHAPTER XV. CONSPIRATORS THREE When Captain Verinder enunciated the startling statement with which the last chapter concludes, he had already conceived a certain scheme in his brain, which, in the course of next day, he took the first steps towards reducing to practice, but without saying a word to his niece of his intentions.