"I've not seen nor heard of him for most a year, till pop there tumbled across your paragraph in the papers.

Then I surmised from the name and the missing finger and the scarred cheek, that I'd dropped right on to Mark.

I wouldn't take all this trouble for any one else; no, sir, not me!" "My Lyddy does not care about being a grass-widow, gentlemen." "I don't mind being a grass-widow or a real one, so long as I know how to ticket myself," said the candid Lydia; "but seems to me there's no question that Mark's sent in his checks." "I certainly think that this man who called himself Berwin was your husband," said Denzil, for Mrs.Vrain's eyes rested on him, and she seemed to expect an answer.
"Well, then, that means I'm Mr.Vrain's widow ?" "I should say so." "And entitled to all his pile ?" "That depends on the will," said Lucian dryly, for the light tone of the pretty woman jarred upon his ear.
"Oh, that's all right," replied Mrs.Vrain, putting a gold-topped smelling bottle to her nose.

"I saw the will made, and know exactly how I come out.

The old man's daughter by his first wife gets the manor and the rents, and I take the assurance money!" "Was Mr.Berwin--I beg pardon, Vrain--was he married twice ?" "I should think so!" said Lydia.