With this unkind shot from a bent bow of malice he went off, leaving James Polydore in an angry fume. For he--James--was not “old”--he assured himself--he was _not_ old,--he would not be old! His wife was “old”--women age so quickly!--but he--why he was “in the prime of life;” all men over sixty are--in their own opinion. The beautiful Diana had ensnared him,--and his sensual soul being of gross quality, was sufficiently stimulated by her physical charm to make him eager to know all he could of her. She herself had not been in the least surprised when he found out her address and came to visit her. The presence of Mrs. Beresford rather disconcerted him,--that lady’s quiet good sense, elegant manners and evident affection for the lovely “girl” she chaperoned, were a little astonishing to him. Such a woman could not be the keeper of a lunatic? Diana never entered into the matter of her relationship with James Polydore to Mrs. Beresford,--it entertained her more or less ironical humour to see her own father playing the ardent admirer, and whenever Mr. May called, as he often did, she always had some laughing remark to make about her “old relative,” who was, she declared, “rather a bore.” Mrs. Beresford was discreet enough to ask no questions, and so James Polydore came and went, getting no “forrader” with the fair one, notwithstanding all his efforts to make himself agreeable, and to dislodge from her mind the strange obsession which possessed it. One day he went to see Sophy Lansing--never a favourite of his--and tried to find out what she thought of the “Diana May” whose name was now almost one to conjure with. But Sophy had little patience to bestow on him. “An adventuress, of course!” she declared. “I am surprised you don’t take the trouble to prosecute her for presuming to pass herself off as your daughter! And I’ll tell you this much--Diana--_your_ Diana--never was drowned!” James Polydore’s mouth opened,--he stared, wondering if he had heard aright. “Never was drowned?” he echoed, feebly. “No! Never was drowned!” repeated Sophy, firmly. “She ran away from you--and no wonder! You were always a bore,--and she was always being reproached as an ‘old maid’ and ‘in the way.’ She slaved for you and her mother from morning till night and never had a kind word or a thank-you. _I_ advised her to break away from the hum-drum life you made her lead, and on that morning when you thought her drowned, she came to _me_! Ah, you may stare! She did! She saw an advertisement in a French paper of a scientist in Geneva wanting a lady assistant to help him in his work, and she went there to try for the situation and got it. I rigged her out and lent her some money. She’s paid it all back, and for all I know she’s in Geneva still, though she’s under an agreement not to write to anyone or give her address. She’s been gone a year now.” Mr. May’s dumpy form stiffened visibly.