Part 26 (1/2)
”Why, it's Clifford! What have you been doing to yourself? Why have you changed your appearance? Why are you here? What's the meaning of all this?”
”It's a long story,” cut in Larssen, and ”there are two versions to it.
Which will you hear first, your husband's or mine?”
She hesitated to answer, her mind buzzing with surprise, resentment, and anger. She hated to be caught at a disadvantage, as in this case. She was uncertain as to what her att.i.tude ought to be.
Had Clifford, suspecting her feelings towards Larssen, returned hurriedly in order to trap her? What did he know? What did he guess?
Evidently she ought to be on her guard.
”Of course I will hear my husband first,” she answered coldly, and Larssen took it as an ill omen. He offered her a chair again, and seated himself so as to command them both.
Matheson, who remained standing, waved his hand towards the s.h.i.+powner.
”Let him speak first.”
”I'm not anxious to,” countered Larssen. ”Fire away with your own version.”
”I hate all this mystery!” snapped Olive irritably. ”Mr Larssen, you tell me what it all means.”
”Very well. _This_ is Mr John Riviere.”
”Riviere?”
”Yes; that's your husband's _nom de discretion_.”
”I thought it was Dean.”
”No--Riviere.”
”Why is he back from Canada so soon?”
”He never went to Canada.”
”You don't mean to say that the letter I received from Arles was written by Clifford himself?”
”At his dictation.”
”Who wrote it?”
Larssen turned to Matheson. ”Do you wish me to explain who wrote it, or will you do it yourself?”
”It was written at my dictation by a Miss Verney--a lady whom I met for the first time on my visit to Arles. Her relation to myself is that of a mere tourist acquaintances.h.i.+p.”
”Why were you at Arles? Why was she at Arles?”
”Miss Verney is--was--a professional scene-painter. She was making a brief tour in Provence to collect material for a Roman drama for which she was commissioned to design the scenery.”
”How old is she?”