ired Mr. Caryll blandly, masking the
rage that seethed in him.

His lordship laughed. "Ye're a wag, Mr. Caryll--a damned wag!" Then
reverting to the matter that was uppermost in his mind. "'Tis a fact,
though--'pon honor. My father would ha' broke me. Luckily she died."

"Who died?" asked Mr. Caryll, with a show of interest.

"The girl. Did I not tell you there was a girl? 'Twas she was the
folly--Antoinette de Maligny. But she died--most opportunely, egad!
'Twas a very damned mercy that she did. It--cut the--the--what d'ye call
it--knot?"

"The Gordian knot?" suggested Mr. Caryll.

"Ay--the Gordian knot. Had she lived and had my father smoked the
affair--Gad! he would ha' broke me; he would so!" he repeated, and
emptied his glass.

Mr. Caryll, white to the lips, sat very still a moment. Then he did a
curious thing; did it with a curious suddenness. He took a knife from
the table, and hacked off the lowest button from his coat. This he
pushed across the board to his father.

"To turn to other matters," said he; "there is the letter you were
expecting from abroad."

"Eh? What?" Lord Ostermore took up the button. It was of silk,
interwoven with gold thread. He turned it over in his fingers, looking
at it with a heavy eye, and then at his guest. "Eh? Letter?" he
muttered, puzzled.

"If your lordship will cut that open, you will see what his majesty has
to propose." He mentioned the king in a voice charged with suggestion,
so that no doubt could linger on the score of the king he meant.

"Gad!" cried his lordship. "Gad! 'Twas thus ye bubbled Mr. Green?
Shrewd, on my soul. And you are the messenger, then?"

"I am the messenger," answered Mr. Caryll coldly.

"And why did you not say so before?"

For the fraction of a second Mr. Caryll hesitated. Then: "Because I did
not judge that the time was come," said he.

CHAPTER VIII. TEMPTATION

His lordship ripped away the silk covering of the button with a
penknife, and disembowelled it of a small packet, which consisted of a
sheet of fine and very closely-folded and tightly-compressed paper. This
he spread, cast an eye over, and then looked up at his companion, who
was watching him with simulated indolence.

His lordship had paled a little, and there was about the lines of his
mouth a look of preternatural gravity. He looked furtively towards the
door, his heavy eyebrows lowering.

"I think," he said, "that we shall be more snug in the library. Will you