"Why not call him Vivian?" sneered the stranger. "He was"--she emphasised the word--"to be your husband, remember." "If you speak like that," said Paslow standing over her and speaking in a low, angry voice, "I shall forget that I am your husband." His wife glanced slightingly at Beatrice. "It seems to me that you have forgotten," she scoffed. What the infuriated man would have said or done on the spur of the moment, it is impossible to say; but he was dangerous. Beatrice saw that, and drew him back with an exclamation. "Don't," she said quickly; "let her say what she will. It cannot hurt me. And let me remind you, Mrs. Paslow, that you have not answered my question." "Nor do I intend to," said the woman, rising and throwing aside the cigarette. The contemptuous words of Beatrice stung her not a little. "This is my husband, and I want him to return to town with me." "You are my wife," said Vivian in quiet anger, "and you were willing to commit bigamy after deceiving me by a feigned death. I refuse to have anything more to do with you." "The law will make you!" she threatened. "The law will do nothing of the sort. As my wife, I will allow you enough to live on; but no law will ever make me have anything to do with you again." "Then I shall make you!" "Ah," interposed Beatrice, "you exercise this power?" "I want my husband," said the woman sullenly. "I refuse to have anything to do with you," retorted Paslow once more. His wife was rapidly losing her temper. She had come prepared for victory; and, meeting with this opposition, all the disdainful certainty of her assumed nature wore away, and the coarser feelings became apparent. Her face flushed a dark red, the expression changed, and instead of a quiet, ladylike person, Beatrice saw before her a virago of the worst. "You shall come!" she shouted, "or rather, I shall stay here. This is my house, and you,"--she turned on Beatrice,--"you shall leave it." "I am here with Mr. Paslow's sister, and I decline to leave it at the word of a disgraced wife." "I!" Mrs. Paslow sprang forward with upraised fist. "You dare to say that to me, you----" Before she could strike, Vivian caught her arm, and flung her back with such force that she fell against the balustrade of the terrace. "Do you want me to commit murder?" he said savagely. "Why not another, since you killed Alpenny?" she panted, and glared at him like a tigress losing her prey. "That is a lie!" cried Beatrice before Vivian could speak. "Mr. Paslow was with me on that night, and about the time the crime was committed." "Oh!" sneered the woman, seizing her advantage, "Vivian was with you, indeed? And what would be said were that known, Miss Hall, as you call yourself?" "Be silent," said her husband, catching her arm in an iron grip, and his face whiter than that of the dead; "you shameless creature! Go away at once, and cease your insults."