“She knows nothing about me,” he thought, “and she does not seem to get on very well with the girl who is masquerading here as an artist. But that sort of thing is only natural with women. They are always jealous of anyone prettier than themselves. By heaven, I wish I had really the chance I fancied I had of winning this superb creature. Fancy having a gambling-house, with a wife like that at the head of affairs! Why, there would be no end of a fortune to be made. But it is useless to think of it, if she is really Annie Cory. If! Why, there is a doubt yet, in spite of appearances. I can’t see what her motive in making love to me can be, after all. What could she gain by it, so long as I stayed in Spain? It strikes me that I had better not be too rash. I will watch and wait. If my suspicions are unfounded, so much the better. If not, so much the worse--for her!” Meanwhile, Miss Stratton excused herself to Mrs. Dollman, and announced her intention of spending the evening in her room, as she had a great many letters to write. Arrived there, she found plenty to occupy her for half an hour. At the end of that time Mrs. Twiley came to her by prearrangement, and was utterly astonished to watch the metamorphosis effected in her appearance while she was there. “Why, you make me feel inclined to run away again,” she laughed. “It’s dreadfully compromising to be here alone with you. Suppose a servant, or one of the other boarders saw me, the consequences would be awful! My reputation would be gone, and poor, dear Twiley’s only consolation would be a divorce. But, seriously, it is wonderful to think of all you have done and are doing for the sake of your lover. I hope you will be successful in all your plans, and some day I expect the pleasure of seeing Mr. Riddell enjoying liberty and happiness once more.” “Thank you so much,” said the lady addressed, who was, to all appearances, a man again, to wit, Mr. Bootle, “Whenever that happy day arrives, believe me, I shall esteem it a sacred duty to bring him to see all who have helped us in our dark days.” “In fact, you will come here for your honeymoon.” “Honeymoon! I dare not think of such happiness while he is languishing in prison. See, would you like to judge how he looked only a year ago?” As she spoke, the girl handed a photograph of a handsome, smiling young fellow to her visitor, at which the latter gazed with a mist gathering in her eyes. “And this,” she was next told, “is the brother who has been foully murdered.” It struck Mrs. Twiley that the brother was even a nobler type of manhood than the unfortunate lover, but she had too much tact to betray that opinion, though she looked long and earnestly at the lineaments of one who was supposed to have come to so sad an end.