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Updated: May 28, 2025
Victor, no doubt you'll follow the habit of your ancestors, and give him his mother's family name. Your mother was the daughter of a marquis, and you are Victor St. Albans Catheron. Good customs should not be dropped let your son's name be Victor Dobb Catheron." She laughed as she dropped the veil, a laugh that made all the blood in Sir Victor's body tingle in his face. But he stood silent.
I married Miss Ethel Dobb in Glasgow, on the thirteenth of May, two years ago. Now, Sir Victor Catheron, when did you marry her." Sir Victor made no answer; his face, as he stood supporting his wife, was ghastly with rage and fear.
Braham asked, "Could your father read?" "The old gentleman was mighty handy at that, sir." Mr. Braham submitted that the man was disqualified Judge thought not. Point argued. Challenged peremptorily, and set aside. Ethan Dobb, cart-driver. "Can you read?" "Yes, but haven't a habit of it." "Have you heard of this case?" "I think so but it might be another. I have no opinion about it." Dist.
The dark image of Inez as his wife faded out of his mind, never to return more. The earthly name of this dazzling divinity in yellow ringlets and pink muslin was Ethel Margaretta Dobb! Dobb! It might have disenchanted a less rapturous adorer it fell powerless on Sir Victor Catheron's infatuated ear.
It was a plain enough case for the jury, but they sat over it a long time, listening to the wrangling of the physicians. Dr. Puffer insisted that the man died from the effects of the wound in the chest. Dr. Dobb as strongly insisted that the wound in the abdomen caused death. Dr. Golightly suggested that in his opinion death ensued from a complication of the two wounds and perhaps other causes.
Lady Helen also started to her feet, her face flushing with haughty anger. "I tell you Inez Catheron has been a martyr not a murderess. She was your mother's rival, as she had a right to be was she not your father's plighted wife, long before he ever saw Ethel Dobb? She was your mother's rival. It was her only fault, and her whole life has been spent in expiating it.
"Character! character! character!" said his boots all the while as he walked. He stopped short, and ground his heels into the frozen earth. He was in front of Miss Dobb's house. Miss Dobb was a middle-aged lady, who wore spectacles, had a sharp nose, a peaked chin, a pinched-up mouth, thin cheeks, and long, bony fingers.
The spring round-up was over, and a successful year begun, when the ordinary course of events was interrupted in the manner I have set down in the beginning of this book by news that the Yaquis had risen. All eyes were turned on the solitary horseman, who rode fast on the heels of Billee Dobb. As this rider came nearer, it could be seen that a paper fluttered in his hand.
And it was Ethel who, to the surprise of every one, her husband included, turned upon Miss Catheron with flashing eyes and flushing cheeks. "And suppose, he is christened Victor Dobb Catheron, what then? It is an honest English name, of which none of my family have ever had reason to feel ashamed.
"All men are equal on the turf and under it," once said a famous sporting nobleman. Ethel Dobb, the London soap-boiler's daughter, took her place to-day, among the dead daughters of earls and marquises, their equal at last, by right divine of the great leveller, Death. A great and solemn hush pervaded all ranks, sexes, and classes.
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