assume such a palpably defiant air, if there were no reason why he should defy me?

Such thoughts coursed through my mind much quicker than they can flow from my pen. After all had I shown my hand? Yes and no. I remembered that my mother bad suggested Captain Dillington as the medium by which my husband communicated with his paramour. Why not assume that, in default of anything more substantial? That Captain Dillington was in some way responsible for my husband's despicable conduct, I was now as convinced as that I saw him before me. He had some influence over Arthur Ravener, the weaker vessel. This idea gained complete supremacy over me. It was then with Captain Dillington that I would deal—this deadly friend whom I would hold responsible.

I stood before the door, as I said, and simply stared at the two men, after my laughter had been subdued. Arthur grasped the back of a chair, and stood looking at me, as though he were obliged to look. Captain Dillington took a seat