They seated themselves and began talking softly, unconscious that in the long grass just beyond the thick belt of shrubbery that inclosed the myrtle avenue, a man had flung himself down full length, so absorbed in his own painful thoughts as to be for the moment unaware of their presence. Suddenly he became aware of the murmuring sound of voices. His first impulse was to rise and leave the spot, but in the next he decided that it would startle the speakers and draw down their ill-will perhaps upon himself. "Some of the servants out sparking," he laughed to himself. "I will not disturb them. They will be none the worse for my presence." So he laid his head down again upon his arm, and relapsed into his painful musing. "I will tell you what I have to say to you, Julius," repeated Mrs. Stuart. "I wish to ask you who is this girl, Irene?" Julius Revington gave a violent start in the darkness. "My dear madame, how should I know?" he exclaimed. "She has promised to be your wife, and it is very likely that she has confided the story of her past to you," replied Mrs. Stuart. "You are mistaken in the supposition. She has steadily declined any such confidence. I have taken her upon her own merits, mystery and all," he replied. There was a moment's pause. Their faces were in shadow, and Mrs. Stuart devoutly wished that she could pierce the veil of the darkness, and read upon his weak face whether or not he was deliberately trying to deceive her. "Perhaps you have formed some opinion of your own," she said. "I have had no clew upon which to base an opinion," he replied. "Have you ever seen the pictures in her locket?" she inquired. Taken by surprise, he stammered faintly: "Ye-es, once, by the merest accident." "You recognized them?" she asked, coldly. "How should I?" he asked, startled. "Why should you not?" she mimicked. "Julius, do not try to beat about the bush with me. I am in desperate earnest. I will not be put off by lies and evasions! You have seen Elaine Brooke's portrait; therefore you must have recognized the face in Irene's locket as hers." "And if I did?" he asked, sullenly. "You must have guessed at the girl's name. You could not have helped it. It is written on her face. You know whom she is, but you are trying to deceive me. You know that you are," she said, passionately. He saw that he had to deal with a passionate, jealous woman, and that his game was all up, so far as concealment of his plans was concerned. "I shall be forced to admit what I cannot deny," he told himself, grimly. Aloud, he asked, in a tone of forced suavity: "Whom do you say that the girl is, Mrs. Stuart?" She bent toward him and answered in a hissing whisper of anger and hate: "She is the daughter of Clarence Stuart and his first wife, Elaine Brooke." A cry of dismay and surprise came from his lips. "You dare not deny it," she hissed. "I do not intend to. It is quite true," he replied, doggedly.