Prince Amede, her husband, will vanish like the beautiful dream which he
always was."

"But how? ... how?" she reiterated, puzzled, anxious, scenting some
nefarious scheme more unavowable even than the last.

"Ah! time will show! ... But he will vanish, my dear Editha, take my
word on it. Shall we say that he will fly up into the clouds and her
Highness the Princess will know him no more?"

"Then why have married her?" she exclaimed: some womanly instinct within
her crying out against this outrage. "'Twas cruel and unnecessary."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Cruel perhaps! ... But surely no more than necessary. I doubt if she
would have entrusted her fortune to anyone but her husband."

"Had she ceased to trust her romantic prince then?"

"Perhaps. At any rate, I chose to make sure of the prize.... I have
worked hard to get it and would not fail for lack of a simple ceremony
... moreover ..."

"Moreover?"

"Moreover, my dear Editha, there is always the possibility ... remote,
no doubt ... but nevertheless tangible ... that at some time or other
... soon or late--who knows?--the little deception practiced on Lady Sue
may come to the light of day.... In that case, even if the marriage be
annulled on the ground of fraud ... which methinks is more than doubtful
... no one could deny my right as the heiress's ... hem ... shall we
say?--temporary husband--to dispose of her wealth as I thought fit. If I
am to become a pariah and an outcast, as you so eloquently suggested
just now ... I much prefer being a rich one.... With half a million in
the pocket of my doublet the whole world is open to me."

There was so much cool calculation, such callous contempt for the
feelings and thoughts of the unfortunate girl whom he had so terribly
wronged, in this expose of the situation, that Mistress de Chavasse
herself was conscious of a sense of repulsion from the man whom she had
aided hitherto.

She believed that she held him sufficiently in her power, through her
knowledge of his schemes and through the help which she was rendering
him, to extract a promise from him that he would share his ill-gotten
spoils in equal portions with her. At one time after the fracas in Bath
Street, he had even given her a vague promise of marriage; therefore, he
had kept secret from her the relation of that day spent at Dover. Now
she felt that even if he were free, she would never consent to link her
future irretrievably with his.

But he