"You knew him?
That's strange." "Yes; it is all very strange," Celia agreed.

"It was Mr.Clendon--we still call him that; it is so difficult to remember that he is the Marquess--and I lived in the same building; we called it 'The Jail'; it was so prison-like." Her voice grew dreamy, as she spoke.

"He played the violin in the orchestra of a theatre; I used to hear him practising; the music floated up to my room; how long ago it seems! It was he who persuaded Lord Sutcombe to engage me as librarian, here at the Hall." "It sounds like a novel," commented Miriam, absently.
"Yes," assented Celia; "but it isn't any more wonderful and astounding than the occurrences one reads of in the newspapers almost every day." "And there is no doubt?
I mean, it is all settled; he _is_ the Marquess ?" said Miriam, still apathetically, as if no change, however revolutionary, could affect her.
"Yes, it is all settled, or will be very soon," said Celia.

"The lawyers are coming down to-morrow; the evidence is quite complete." There was silence for a minute or two; then Celia, with her heart beating fast and heavily, said, in a still lower voice, "There is something else I must tell you, Lady Heyton.

Mr.Clendon, the real Marquess, has--has a son." She stopped to let this sink in, and Miriam's brows knit slightly; then she said, almost inaudibly, "You mean that--that Heyton, my husband, is not the heir, is not Lord Heyton ?" "Yes," said Celia in a whisper.