oung woman to make a fool of herself. He
found time, in spite of his apparently monopolizing the whole
conversation, to whisper incessantly into Sibylla's ear. He was
evidently asking questions about her household position--how many
sisters she had--how many brothers--their ages, characters looks, and
the state of their education. He seemed practising for an inspector of
schools. Then he went off to her cousin's, where he had met her in
Russell Square, and the same series of questions about family affairs
was repeated. Was the man engaged in collecting the census returns?

"What a dreadful thing the death of poor Mr Mopple!" said Sibylla. "They
said he wasn't kind to his wife, though I never saw any signs of it at
my cousin's."

"Mopple! Mopple!" he said, as if trying to remember. "Ah! a poor man
with a beautiful wife is he dead?"

"Oh, yes--quite suddenly! He was down in Scotland, on the moors. Some
people say there is something wrong about it."

"Indeed--ha!" said Mr Marvale. "What--what do they say?"

"He was found dead in a shooting-box. His gun had gone off and killed
him; but"--

I looked at the man's face. He was trying to appear as if he scarcely
attended to what she was saying.

"Some of the friends are not quite satisfied that it was accidental,"
continued Sibylla. "How I pity poor Mrs Mopple."

"Pray, Sibylla," I said, "what was the poor woman's Christian name?"

"Her name was Isabella."

"So!" I said, and looked firmly at Mr Marvale. "Do you hear that, sir?
Her name was Isabella."

"Isabella, or the Fatal Marriage--a good thing in its time, but out of
fashion now," he answered. "A curious fact, there is an incident of
precisely the same kind, of which I claim the credit."

"Of what kind, sir?" I said. "Take care what you say."

"Oh, it's no secret! Mr Edwards and I concocted it between us; that is
to say, he objected to it a little at first, but I flatter myself it
will make some little noise in the world when it is fairly known."

I looked again at the brazen-faced fellow, and nearly fell off my chair
at hearing him make such a horrid confession.

"I don't believe a word of it, sir," I exclaimed, "as far as Frank
Edwards is concerned."

"I assure you he had very little hand in it," he replied. "The merit, as
you say, is entirely my own."

"And the consequences, too, I hope."

"I hope so. I offered a good deal before I undertook it; and I think it
will pay very well."

"What will pay