"I am, but not that name, please. Twine is my name, and Ferdy will marry me as Sarah Twine. I prefer to be called Zara, or Butterfly, myself. The other name is so plebeian; but then, I am a very common person." "And a very clever one," said Clarice again, glancing at the gimcrack French clock on the draped mantelpiece; "but we are losing time, and I have to get back to my hotel. How did you recognise me?" "Ah!" Zara clapped her hands. "Was not that smart of me? You will say yes. But you are wrong. It was chance--the chance upon which you did not reckon. It was ingenious of you to send Ferdy to Gattlinsands to get him out of the way, but it did not occur to you that Ferdy might write." She picked up an envelope from the table and threw it across to Clarice. "Here. It has just arrived." Clarice threw the letter back. "There is no need. I recognise Ferdy's writing on the envelope. I don't wish to know how he writes to you." "In a perfectly proper way, I assure you," said Zara, coolly; "I don't allow that child to be too familiar--it breeds contempt, you know. I have had too much of that sort of thing before I became famous, so I don't want another dose." "So you knew that I was not Ferdy," said Clarice, slowly. "Not at first; not until, by chance, I opened that envelope. I started, as you saw, and then came across to look at your arm. As the name--my name, Zara--was not tattooed there, I guessed at once that you were not Ferdy, and that you could be none other than Miss Baird, the double of my dear sweet boy." "Spare me the adjectives," said Clarice, coldly. "I'm sparing you a great deal, I think," said Zara, viciously; "by what right do you thrust yourself into my affairs?" "By the right of a sister's love." "Bah! I don't believe that there is such a thing. Certainly, so far as Ferdy is concerned, there isn't brotherly love on his part. He would sell you for a five-pound note." Clarice felt a pang, for she knew how truly the dancer spoke. "I agree with you there," she replied, sadly. "My dear, he isn't worth it," said Zara, in a softer tone. "Well?" "Well?" Clarice looked up. "Speak away," said Zara, impatiently; "I'm all attention. What do you want to ask me?" "Ah, now we are coming to business." "About time," interpolated the other woman. "Oh, I shall dispose of my business very shortly," said Clarice, sharply; "You want to marry Ferdy. To gain your ends, you told Prudence Clarke a lie about her father." Zara was quite unmoved, and blew smoke through her delicate nostrils. "Prudence has told you, then?" "Yes. You forced her to send away Ferdy, to save her father." "I did. I want Ferdy to myself, and I have no particular reason to desire the hanging of Mr. Clarke." "You couldn't hang him if you tried," retorted Clarice, angrily. "Oh, yes, I could. Suppose--for the sake of argument--that I went to Inspector Tick, of Crumel, with my story of what I saw." "You saw nothing."