“Aye!  I remember!”

“Begad, then to-night I’ll have that bulk out of her hands.  You may take an oath on that!” he declared savagely.

“And afterwards?” she asked simply.

“Afterwards?”

“Yes ... afterwards? ... when Sue has discovered how she has been tricked? ...  Are you not afraid of what she might do? ...  Even though her money may pass into your hands ... even though you may inveigle her into a clandestine marriage ... she is still the daughter of the late Earl of Dover ... she has landed estates, wealth, rich and powerful relations....  There must be an ‘afterwards,’ remember! ...”

His ironical laugh grated on her nerves, as he replied lightly: 

“Pshaw! my dear Editha! of a truth you are not your own calm self to-day, else you had understood that forsooth! in the love affairs of Prince Amede d’Orleans and Lady Susannah Aldmarshe there must and can be no ‘afterwards.’”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Yet, ’tis simple enough.  Sue is my wife.”

“Your wife! ...” she exclaimed.

“Hush!  An you want to scream, I pray you question me not, for what I say is bound to startle you.  Sue is my wife.  I married her, having obtained a special license to do so in the name of Prince Amede Henri d’Orleans, and all the rest of the romantic paraphernalia.  She is my wife, and therefore, her money and fortune are mine, every penny of it, without question or demur.”

“She will appeal to the Court to have the marriage annulled ... she’ll rouse public indignation against you to such a pitch that you’ll not be able to look one of your kith and kin in the face....  The whole shameful story of the mysterious French prince ... your tricks to win the hand of your ward by lying, cheating and willful deceit will resound from one end of the country to the other....  What is the use of a mint of money if you have to herd with outcasts, and not an honest man will shake you by the hand?”

“None, my dear Editha, none,” he replied quietly, “and ’tis of still less use for you to rack your nerves in order to place before me a gruesome picture of the miserable social pariah which I should become, if the story of my impersonation of a romantic exile for the purpose of capturing the hand of my ward came to the ears of those in authority.”

“Whither it doubtless would come!” she affirmed hotly.

“Whither it doubtless would come,” he assented, “and therefore, my dear Editha, once the money is safely in my hands I will leave her Royal Highness the Princesse d’Orleans in full possession, not only of her landed estates but of the freedom conferred on her by widowhood, for 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?”