“He was plain Mr. Chetwynd.”

“Yes; but already very popular.  It was exceedingly fortunate that he did not get his baronetcy earlier, for had he done so, she would probably have refused to be faithless.”

“I wonder if he felt her desertion much?”

“The world says not; they had lived unhappily for some time before, and the general impression was that he did not care in the least.”

“But you spoke of her to him when he asked your consent to our marriage?”

“Yes, Ethel, I did; I referred to it as delicately as possible, of course.  I believe I said, ‘your early misfortune,’ or something to that effect.”

“And what did he say?”

“Well, he spoke very nicely; he said he was aware that it added to the disparity between a man in his position and my daughter.”

“And you?”

“I believe I replied that because a bad woman had caused him misery and suffering in the past, it was no reason why he should not win and hold the love of a good girl, and that because of the sorrow he had endured, I felt the more assured in trusting my child’s happiness into his keeping.”

“That was sweet of you, mother; but did it not occur to you that there was just—­a little risk?”

“How?”

“I don’t think that John is a man who would forget easily.”

“Good Heavens, child! what do you mean? you cannot doubt the sincerity of his protestations of affection for you, surely?”

Her daughter laughed.

“I certainly do not wish him to be more demonstrative, mother dear; love-making is the most boring process imaginable; but still, I should prefer, I must confess, that there was no under-current of feeling for wife number one.”

“You amaze me, Ethel, by suggesting such a horrible idea.  The woman may be dead for anything I know; at all events, she left England before he obtained his divorce, and no one has heard anything of her since.  It is extremely improbable that she will ever return to this country.”

But in this, as we know, the Duchess was in grave error.

At that very moment Bella was sitting by the open piano in her cosy apartments in a street off the Strand, idly striking a note here and there and humming the air of a new song; but her cough, which was incessant, made singing almost out of the question.

“I believe I’m getting worse,” she cried, rising and flinging herself on the sofa, “I’m sure I was not so bad as this three months ago—­not so bad when—­he never came.  Ah! why should he?  How could I expect it?  Perhaps to-day may have been his wedding day!  Come in.”

The door opened noisily, and Saidie Blackall, very much over-dressed and distinctly rouged and made up, entered, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Doss, looking precisely the same as on that memorable night when they had been the innocent cause of so much trouble to Bella’s husband.  The old music-hall singer and his wife had lost no time in looking her up when she returned from the States, and were really well-meaning, kindly folk.