"He went first to Port Said and then came to London with this
woman," continued the Spaniard remorselessly. "We come from her
husband to ask her to return. Yes, he will forgive her--or he
offers her freedom."

Rapidly but comprehensively the speaker's bold glance travelled
over Zahara, from her golden head to her tiny embroidered shoes.

"If you can help us in this matter it will be worth fifty English
pounds to you," he concluded.

Zahara was breathing rapidly. The fatal hatred which she had
sought to stifle gained a new vitality. Another woman--another
woman actually here in London! So there was someone upon whom he
did not look in that half-amused and half-compassionate manner.
How she hated him! How she hated the woman to whom he had but a
moment ago returned!

"Then he will marry this other one?" she said suddenly.

"Oh, no. Already he neglects her. We think she will go back."

Zahara experienced a swift change of sentiment. She seemed to be
compounded of two separate persons, one of whom laughed cruelly
at the folly of the other.

"What is the name of this man you think your friend has
recognized?" she asked.