vouchsafed no reply.

"She is quite mad."

"No wonder!"

"Ah, yes. What do you think of her?"

"That she is Ferdy Wickersham's wife--or ought to be."

"Ah, yes." Here was a gleam of light. "But she is so insane that very
little reliance should be placed on anything that she says. In such
instances, you know, women make the most preposterous statements and
believe them. In her condition, she might just as well have claimed me
for her husband."

Mrs. Lancaster recognized this, and looked just a little relieved. She
turned as if about to speak, but shut her lips tightly and walked on to
the waiting carriage. And during the rest of the return home she
scarcely uttered a word.

An hour later Ferdy Wickersham was seated in his private office, when
Mr. Rimmon walked in.

Wickersham greeted him with more courtesy than he usually showed him.

"Well," he said, "what is it?"

"Well, it's come."

Wickersham laughed unmirthfully. "What? You have been found out? Which
commandment have you been caught violating?"

"No; it's you," said Mr. Rimmon, his eyes on Wickersham, with a gleam of
retaliation in them. "Your wife has turned up." He was gratified to see
Wickersham's cold face turn white. It was a sweet revenge.

"My wife! I have no wife." Wickersham looked him steadily in the eyes.

"You had one, and she is in town."

"I have no wife," repeated Wickersham, firmly, not taking his eyes from
the clergyman's face. What he saw there did not satisfy him. "I have
your statement."

The other hesitated and reflected.

"I wish you would give me that back. I was in great distress of mind
when I gave you that."

"You did not give it," said Wickersham. "You sold it." His lip curled.

"I was--what you said you were when it occurred," said Mr. Rimmon. "I
was not altogether responsible."

"You were sober enough to make me carry a thousand shares of weak stock
for you till yesterday, when it fell twenty points," said Wickersham.
"Oh, I guess you were sober enough."

"She is in town," said Rimmon, in a dull voice.

"Who says so?"

"I have seen her."

"Where is she?"--indifferently.

"She is ill. She is mad."

Wickersham's face settled a little. His eyes blinked as if a blow had
been aimed at him nearly. Then he recovered his poise.

"How mad?"

"As mad as a March hare."

"You can attend to it," he said, looking the clergyman full in the face.
"I don't want her to suffer. There will be some expense. Can you ge