ison with your own, let me
tell you. No words can do justice to such baseness as that!'

'I agree with you. If I had done such a thing no words could; but as I
happen to be quite blameless of the least idea of hurting your
feelings, I'm beginning to be rather tired of this, you see, Mr.
Humpage.'

'I'm going, sir, I'm going. I've nearly said my say. You have not
altered my opinion in the least. I'm not blind, and I saw your face
change when you saw me. You were _afraid_ of me. You know you were.
What reason but one could you have for that?'

Of course Mark could have explained even this rather suspicious
appearance, but then he would not have improved matters very much; and
so, like many better men, he had to submit to be cruelly
misunderstood, when a word might have saved him, although in his case
silence was neither quixotic nor heroic.

'I can only say again,' he replied in his haughtiest manner, 'that
when this book was written, I had never seen you, nor even heard of
your existence. If you don't believe me, I can't help it.'

'You've got your own uncle and your own manner to thank for it if I
don't believe you, and I don't. There are ways of juggling with words
to make them cover anything, and from all I know of you, you are
likely enough to be apt at that sort of thing. I've come here to tell
you what I think of you, and I mean to do it before I go. You've
abused such talents as you've been gifted with, sir; gone out of your
way to attack a man who never did you any harm. You're a hired
literary assassin--that's my opinion of you! I'm not going to take any
legal proceeding against you--I'm not such a fool. If I was a younger
man, I might take the law, in the shape of a stout horse-whip, into my
own hands; as it is, I leave you to go your own way, unpunished by me.
Only, mark my words--you'll come to no good. There's a rough sort of
justice in this world, whatever may be said, and a beginning like
yours will bring its own reward. Some day, sir, you'll be found out
for what you are! That's what I came to say!'

And he turned on his heel and marched downstairs, leaving Mark with a
superstitious fear at his heart at his last words, and some annoyance
with Holroyd for having exposed him to this, and even with himself for
turning craven at the first panic.

'I must look up that infernal book again!' he thought. 'Holroyd may
have libelled half London in it for all I know.'

Now it may be as well to state here t