"Think! I am as I have been addressed here, and as I must remain yet for months to come--Everard Dominey, an Englishman and the owner of this house--the husband of Lady Dominey." "Where is your reputed wife ?" Stephanie demanded, frowning.
"In the nursing home where she has been for the last few months," he replied.

"She has already practically recovered.

She cannot remain there much longer." "You must insist upon it that she does." "I ask you to consider the suspicions which would be excited by such a course," Dominey pleaded earnestly, "and further, can you explain to me in what way I, having already, according to belief of everybody, another wife living, can take advantage of this mandate ?" She looked at him wonderingly.
"You make difficulties?
You sit there like the cold Englishman whose place you are taking, you whose tears have fallen before now upon my hand, whose lips--" "You speak of one who is dead," Dominey interrupted, "dead until the coming of great events may bring him to life again.

Until that time your lover must be dumb." Then her anger blazed out.

She spoke incoherently, passionately, dragged his face down to hers and clenched her fist the next moment as though she would have struck it.