ence.

"Ignore me, miss--I have not your name, but I am sure it is a noble
one," he said. "You see before you one who in his time has been a squire
of dames, by Jove! I can't remember 'em. They must number thousands and
only one of them was worth two sous. Yes," he shook his head in
melancholy, "only one of 'em. By Jove! The rest were"--he snapped his
fingers--"that for 'em!"

The girl listened against her will.

"Jackson!"--and van Heerden's voice trembled with passion--"will you go
or must I force you to go?"

Jackson rose with a loud laugh.

"Evidently I am _de trop_," he said with heavy sarcasm.

He held out a swollen hand which van Heerden ignored.

"Farewell, mademoiselle." He thrust the hand forward, so that she could
not miss it.

She took it, a cold flabby thing which sent a shudder of loathing
through her frame, and raised her face to his for the first time.

He let the hand drop. He was staring at her with open mouth and features
distorted with horror.

"You!" he croaked.

She shrunk back against the wall of the alcove, but he made no movement.
She sensed the terror and agony in his voice.

"You!" he gasped. "Mary!"

"Hang you! Go!" roared van Heerden, and thrust him back.

But though he staggered back a pace under the weight of the other's arm,
his eyes did not leave the girl's face, and she, fascinated by the
appeal in the face of the wreck, could not turn hers away.

"Mary!" he whispered, "what is your other name?"

With an effort the girl recovered herself.

"My name is not Mary," she said quietly. "My name is Oliva Cresswell."

"Oliva Cresswell," he repeated. "Oliva Cresswell!"

He made a movement toward her but van Heerden barred his way. She heard
Jackson say something in a strangled voice and heard van Heerden's sharp
"What!" and there was a fierce exchange of words.

The attention of the few people in the palm-court had been attracted to
the unusual spectacle of two men engaged in what appeared to be a
struggle.

"Sit down, sit down, you fool! Sit over there. I will come to you in a
minute. Can you swear what you say is true?"

Jackson nodded. He was shaking from head to foot.

"My name is Predeaux," he said; "that is my daughter--I married in the
name of Cresswell. My daughter," he repeated. "How wonderful!"

"What are you going to do?" asked van Heerden.

He had half-led, half-pushed the other to a chair near one of the
pillars of the rotunda.

"I am going to tell