In half an hour she had exchanged her dress for the filmy garments and velvet zouave of an Oriental beauty, and was lying half rec.u.mbent upon the silken divan in a careless, graceful att.i.tude. When she had a.s.sumed exactly the same pose as before, with one naked foot dangling near the ground and the stray embroidered slipper beside her, she told him to commence.

During the morning the artist worked on in the best of spirits.

Delighted at the return of his companion and _confidante_, whom he had despaired of seeing again, he chatted and laughed in a manner quite unusual to him, for he always preserved a rather morose silence when he had any difficult work in hand. One thing, however, was unaccountable, and caused him considerable surprise. When he had been painting about an hour he made a discovery. He was engaged in heightening the tone of the neck, and, finding her head cast rather too much shadow, asked her to turn a little more upon her side. She did so rather reluctantly, he thought--and then he noticed upon her neck, half-hidden by the heavy necklace of Turkish coins she wore, a long ugly scar.

"Why, Dolly!" he exclaimed in consternation, leaving his easel and walking up to examine her more closely, "what's the matter with your neck?"

"Nothing," she replied, somewhat embarra.s.sed.

"But you've had a fearful wound. How did it occur?"

"It was a mere trifle. I--I fell down."

"Where?"

"In the street. I slipped and fell upon the kerb."

"A fall couldn't cause a cut like that," he exclaimed incredulously.

"It did. But don't bother about it," she replied, a trifle petulantly.

"It has healed now, and I have no pain."

He looked at her steadily, and felt convinced that she was concealing the truth. Rea.s.suming his former lightheartedness, however, he observed that the accident was most unfortunate, and, expressing a hope that she felt no evil effects from it, returned to his picture and continued to put in the lighter flesh tints.

About two o'clock he suddenly remembered that he had made an appointment to call upon a man at Holland Park with regard to a commission, and that it would be imperative for him to leave her for at least an hour. She raised no objection, therefore he changed his coat and took his departure, promising to return with all possible haste, as he wanted to finish the portion of the picture upon which he was engaged before the light failed.

When he had gone she rose languidly from her couch, and, shivering slightly, threw a wrap around her bare white shoulders, and seated herself by the fire. Soon Mrs. O'Shea brought in her luncheon on a tray, and she ate with relish, chatting to the housekeeper meanwhile.

After she had finished, and the old woman had retired, she rose and wandered round the studio in search of any fresh studies the artist might have made during her absence. She turned one which was hanging with its face to the wall, and discovered it was a likeness of the woman she hated--her rival, Valerie Dedieu. It was only a crayon drawing, but the features were lifelike, and the cruel, cold smile played upon the full red lips.

"I wonder," she said, aloud--"I wonder what secret tie there is between Jack and that woman? There is something, I feel certain, and I'll not rest until I solve the mystery. Yet--yet she is Hugh's wife--Hugh loves her!" she added bitterly.

With a sigh she replaced the sketch in the position she had found it.

"Yes, my precious mademoiselle," she continued menacingly, "you may well hide your face. Some day you will curse the chance which brought you and Hugh together. You little suspect the revenge that I am waiting for."

Pausing in thought, she ran her fingers through her dishevelled hair.

"And yet," she cried in dismay, as the sudden thought occurred to her, "by unmasking you, Hugh would suffer, for he adores you! The discovery of your villainy would break his heart. You are his wife--his wife--and for me--for me he cares nothing!"

A tear trickled down her cheek, but it was only for an instant; she brushed it away, and stood motionless for several minutes gazing disconsolately into the fire. Then she noticed that Jack's secretaire bookcase, which stood close beside her, was open. Feminine curiosity at once a.s.serted itself, and the thought crossed her mind that it was possible she might discover some clue to the secret between the Frenchwoman and the artist.

At once she proceeded to search, at the same time listening attentively for any sign of the approach of Mrs. O'Shea. Prying among the papers in the desk she could discover nothing which had any interest for her among the bills, letters, theatre programmes and memoranda it contained.

Turning her attention to the small drawers above, her search was equally fruitless. One drawer she opened, however, contained nothing but an old newspaper folded small and lying along the bottom. A red mark upon it attracted her, and she took it out and unfolded it, but with disappointment she found herself unable to read it, as it was in French.

Half a column on the front page had been marked round boldly with a red pencil, and was evidently some important report which had been carefully preserved. The heading was set in great capitals, and the type was larger than that in the body of the paper.

She glanced down the lines of print, but they were unintelligible to her. The heading, which was the only sentence she could make out, was "Le Mystere du Boulevard Haussmann," and the newspaper was the Paris _Gaulois_. Truth to tell, it was the paper which Egerton had abstracted from the bureau at Coombe when Dolly and he had visited Trethowen.

The "Sultan's Favourite" carefully scanned each line in an endeavour to discover some word that was familiar, but found none. She knew it contained details of some mystery or other, and that was sufficient incentive for her to try and translate it. Soon, however, she found that all her efforts were futile; so, refolding it, she was about to replace it in its former position when she suddenly reflected that if she copied out a portion of it she might get it translated by a governess who lodged in the same house as herself, and with whom she was on friendly terms.

Taking a seat at the desk, she spread out the paper before her, and carefully copied several sentences, taking heed to place the accents accurately, and scrupulously avoiding errors in orthography. Having covered two sheets of notepaper, she replaced the newspaper in the drawer, afterwards going into her dressing-room and putting her notes into the pocket of her dress.

Once or twice she felt inclined to laugh at herself for attaching so much importance to a mere newspaper report which seemed to contain nothing to connect it with the persons in whom she was interested, nevertheless she felt convinced that no clue was too small or insignificant for her to investigate. One discovery, amazing yet incomprehensible, she had already made, and it had whetted her desire to know the whole truth in order that her revenge might be more complete.

Egerton returned shortly afterwards. Handing her a bag of burnt almonds of a kind for which she had a particular weakness, he expressed a hope that she had not been dull, and quickly prepared to resume his work.

With eyes sparkling like those of a spoiled child, she tasted the almonds, and gave him one, then, flinging aside her wrap, lay again upon the divan before him, laughing, and crunching her sweets.

The artist was in a mood even more joyful than before he went out, the cause being that he had been given commission for a portrait that was at once easy and lucrative, a fact which he triumphantly announced to his model, and upon which she congratulated him.

In November the light in London grows yellow early, and before four o'clock the artist had to lay down his palette for the day. Tea was brought in a few minutes later, and the pair sat _tete-a-tete_ before the blazing fire, Dolly listening to the painter's technical description of the picture that he had been commissioned to execute.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

WITHOUT THE QUEEN'S PROCTOR.

The last act of a matrimonial drama was being watched attentively by six rows of eager spectators.

Already the gas had been lit, for the dull yellow light of the wintry London moon was insufficient to illuminate the sombre Court. Upon the bench, at the rear of which hung a large square board covered with dark-blue cloth and bearing a golden anchor, the judge sat--grave, silent, almost statuesque. The public who filled the tiers of seats before him listened intently to every word of the story of a woman's faithlessness, which counsel was relating. It was an undefended, and therefore not an unusually interesting case. Nevertheless, the Divorce Court has an attraction for the curious, and is nearly always crowded, even when there are scarcely a dozen people in any of the Queen's Bench or Chancery Divisions. The very word divorce is sufficient to interest some, and for the novelty of the thing they desire to witness the procedure by which husband and wife are disunited.

Perhaps such curiosity is pardonable. It certainly is more excusable than the ignominious conduct of some _soi-disant_ ladies, who consider it good form to attend a Criminal Court where a woman is indicted for murder, and there watch and comment audibly, and with heartless inhumanity, upon the agonies of their wretched sister who is being tried for her life. Such scenes at recent trials of unfortunate women have been a scandal to our civilisation.

In the Divorce Court, however, it is different. The surroundings are more refined. The _denouement_ of the marriage drama there enacted frequently develops into broad comedy before the curtain is rung down by the judicial decision. Even there, however, women gloat over the stories of the domestic woe of another woman, and ridicule the deceived husband with a cool indifference that is astounding; they are apparently quite unimpressed by the gravity of the question at issue.

The President had already disposed of half a dozen undefended suits, when the case of Willoughby _versus_ Willoughby and Lapasque had been called on.

"Pardon me, Mr. Grover. My attention was diverted for the moment, and I did not catch your opening sentences," the judge was saying to counsel for the pet.i.tioner.

"The facts of the case before you, m'lord, are briefly these," exclaimed the barrister, recommencing. "The pet.i.tioner, Captain Willoughby, late of the 10th Hussars, married the respondent, a French subject, at St.

Mary Abbot's, Kensington, in June, 1884. The parties lived happily at Brighton, Leeds, Toulon, and other places until about a year had elapsed, when frequent quarrels arose. The pet.i.tioner discovered that his wife was carrying on an intrigue with a wealthy young man named Arthur Kingscote, with whom she had been acquainted before marriage.

This led to an encounter between the two men at a Manchester hotel, with the result that my client was severely injured in the head, in consequence of which pet.i.tioner took proceedings against Kingscote, who was fined at the Manchester Police Court for the a.s.sault. This apparently incensed the respondent, and quarrels became of more frequent occurrence, until one day, while living at San Remo, Mrs. Willoughby left her home unexpectedly, and never returned. Eventually, after a long series of inquiries, the pet.i.tioner found that his wife was living at Nice, and that she had formed a _liaison_ with the co-respondent, Gustava Lapasque, who is one of the officials connected with the Casino at Monte Carlo. The evidence I shall call before you, m'lord, will prove the latter part of my statement; and as I understand there is no one present representing either respondent or co-respondent, I shall ask your lordship to p.r.o.nounce the decree usual in such a case."

The captain having briefly borne out the statement of his counsel, the latter turned to the usher, saying--

"Call Giovanni Moretti, please."

In a few minutes a dapper and rather well-dressed Italian stepped into the witness-box.

"What are you, Signore Moretti?" asked Mr. Grover, when the witness had been sworn and his name taken.

"Head waiter at the Hotel Victoria, Nice," he replied in broken English.

"Do you recognise this lady?" counsel asked, handing up a cabinet photograph of Valerie.

"Yes," he said, taking a long glance at it. "The lady is Madame Lapasque."

"And this photograph?" continued Mr. Grover, handing him another.

"Monsieur Lapasque. They both stayed at our hotel for nearly three months the summer before last. They came in July and left in October."

"During those months would you have many visitors at your hotel?"