The men in the great front hall gazed at Fashion's throng sweeping by on the avenue as Ferris led his last trumps and endeavored to develop the hidden enemy's line of reserve.
His last hope failed when his legal wife quietly whispered, "Our union was brought about by treachery, duress, and fraud.

Do you wish to proclaim your own share publicly?
I know all now.

I have all my father's dispatches, his cipher book, his telegrams from you, and the last, from Randall Clayton." "You are my wife," fiercely whispered Ferris.
"In name only," defiantly replied Alice Worthington.

"You will learn my father's last wishes later, and to your sorrow.

You lied when you said that Clayton led a vile life.