"Well, sir," said she, for his voice was ingratiating, and had modified the effect of his criminal countenance, "as you knew my mother, you are welcome to me." The artist in deceit gave a little sigh, and said, "That's more than I dare hope.

For I am here upon a most unpleasant commission; but for my respect for your mother I would not have undertaken it, for really my acquaintance with the other lady is but slight." Mary looked a little surprised at this rigmarole, and said, "But this commission, what is it ?" "Miss Bartley," said he, solemnly, yet gravely, "I have been requested to warn you against a gentleman who is deceiving you." "Who is that ?" said Mary, on her guard directly.
"It is a Mr.Walter Clifford." "Walter Clifford!" said Mary.

"You are a slanderer; he is incapable of deceit." The rogue pretended to brighten up.
"Well, I hope so," said he, "and I told the lady as much; he comes from a most honorable stock.

So then he has _told_ you about Lucy Monckton ?" "Lucy Monckton!" cried Mary.

"No; who is she ?" "Miss Bartley," said the villain, very gravely and solemnly, "she is his wife." "His wife, sir ?" cried Mary, contemptuously--"his wife?
You must be mad.
I'll hear no more against him behind his back." Then, threatening her tormentor: "He will be home again this evening; he has only ridden to the Lake Hotel; you shall repeat this to his face, if you dare." "It will be my painful duty," said the serpent, meekly.
"His wife!" said Mary, scornfully, but her lips trembled.
"His wife," replied Monckton, calmly; "a respectable woman whom, it seems, he has deserted these fourteen years.