ession of pain which he had called into the other's face.

"I don't know what all this means," said Rainham wearily, turning
from Oswyn to Dick as he spoke; "but surely it is all wrong? Be
quiet, Dick; you needn't say anything. If Oswyn is accusing you of
plagiarism, of stealing his ideas, I can't believe it. I can't
believe you meant to wrong him. The same thing must have occurred to
both of you. Why, Oswyn, surely you see that? You have both been
painting here, and you were both struck in the same way. Nothing
could be simpler."

Now Lightmark seemed to assume a more confident attitude, to become
more like himself; and he was about to break the chain of silence,
which had held him almost voiceless throughout Oswyn's attack, when
Rainham again interrupted him.

"I am sure you needn't say anything, Dick. We all know Oswyn; he--he
wasn't serious. Go and catch your train, and forget all about it."

The first words which Rainham spoke recalled to Oswyn the powerful
reason which had determined him to preserve his old neutrality, and
to make an offering of silence upon the altar of his regard for the
only man with whom he could feel that he had something in common. If
his vengeance could have vented itself upon a single victim, it
would have fallen, strong and sure; but it was clear to his calmer
self that this could not be; the consequences would be too
far-reaching, and might even recoil upon himself. After all, what
did it matter? There was a certain luxury in submission to
injustice, a pleasure in watching the bolt of Nemesis descend when
his hands were guiltless of the launching. And as he struggled with
himself, hunting in retrospect for some excuse for what his passion
railed at as weakness, a last straw fell into the scale, for he
thought of the faded portrait in the cigarette-case.

CHAPTER XIX

"My dear," said Lady Garnett, accepting a cup of tea from the hands
of her niece, and regarding her at the same time, from her low
cushioned chair, with a certain drollery, "do you know that it is
exactly one week since Mr. Sylvester called?"

Mary Masters' head was bent a little over her long _Suede_
gloves--they had just returned from their afternoon drive in the
Park--and she paused to remove her hat and veil before she replied.

"And it is at least three weeks since Mr. Rainham was here."

"Ah, poor Philip!" remarked the old lady, "he is always irregular;
he may come, or he may not. I must ask him to din