was made by Rotherby to interfere, but this attempt was
disposed of by Wharton, who had constituted himself entirely master of
the proceedings.

"If you will not allow Mr. Caryll to speak, we shall infer that you fear
what he may have to say; you will compel us to hear him in your absence,
and I cannot think that you would prefer that, my lord."

My lord fell silent. He was breathing heavily, and his face was pale,
his eyes angry beyond words, what time Mr. Caryll, in amiable, musical
voice, with its precise and at moments slightly foreign enunciation,
unfolded the shameful story of the affair at the "Adam and Eve," at
Maidstone. He told a plain, straightforward tale, making little attempt
to reproduce any of its color, giving his audience purely and simply the
facts that had taken place. He told how he himself had been chosen as a
witness when my lord had heard that there was a traveller from France
in the house, and showed how that slight circumstance had first awakened
his suspicions of foul play. He provoked some amusement when he dealt
with his detection and exposure of the sham parson. But in the main he
was heard with a stern and ominous attention--ominous for Lord Rotherby.

Rakes these men admittedly were with but few exceptions. No ordinary
tale of gallantry could have shocked them, or provoked them to aught but
a contemptuous mirth at the expense of the victim, male or female. They
would have thought little the worse of a man for running off with the
wife, say, of one of his acquaintance; they would have thought nothing
of his running off with a sister or a daughter--so long as it was not
of their own. All these were fair game, and if the husband, father or
brother could not protect the wife, sister or daughter that was his, the
more shame to him. But though they might be fair game, the game had its
rules--anomalous as it may seem. These rules Lord Rotherby--if the tale
Mr. Caryll told was true--had violated. He had practiced a cheat, the
more dastardly because the poor lady who had so narrowly escaped being
his victim had nether father nor brother to avenge her. And in every eye
that was upon him Lord Rotherby might have read, had he had the wit to
do so, the very sternest condemnation.

"A pretty story, as I've a soul!" was his grace's comment, when Mr.
Caryll had done. "A pretty story, my Lord Rotherby. I have a stomach for
strong meat myself. But--odds my life!--this is too nauseous!"

Rotherby glared