he threw himself in their
way, affecting an artless surprise and pleasure at being the first to
welcome them back. Mark did not appear at all disconcerted to see him,
and Mabel could not be frigid to anybody just then in the flush of
happy expectation, which she did not try to conceal; altogether it was
a bitter disappointment to Caffyn.

He quite gasped when Mark said, with a frank unconsciousness, and
without waiting for the subject to be introduced by him, 'Oh, I say,
Caffyn, what on earth made you think poor old Vincent was going back
to India at once? He's not going to do anything of the kind; he's
wandering about the Continent. We knocked up against him at
Laufingen!'

Caffyn gave a searching look at Mabel's sweet, tranquil face, then at
Mark's, which bore no sign of guilt or confusion. 'Knocked up against
you!' he repeated; 'why--why, didn't he _expect_ to find you there,
then?'

Mabel answered this: 'It was quite an accident that he stopped at
Laufingen at all,' she said; 'he was going on to Italy.'

Caffyn did not give up even then--he tried one last probe: 'Of
course,' he said; 'I forgot, your husband kept him so completely in
the dark about it all--eh, Mark? Why, when you got him to come down to
Wastwater with me, he had no idea what festivities were in
preparation--had he?'

'No, my boy,' said Mark, with a perfectly natural and artistic laugh;
'I really don't believe he had--you mustn't be shocked, darling,' he
added to Mabel; 'it was all for his good, poor fellow. I must tell you
some day about our little conspiracy. It's all very well for you,
though,' he turned to Caffyn again, 'to put it all on to me--you had
more to do with it than I--it was your own idea, you know!'

'Oh!' said Caffyn; 'well, if you like to put it in that way----.' He
lost his self-possession completely--there was something in all this
he could not at all understand.

The fact was that Mark felt himself able now to face the whole world
with equanimity; the knowledge that no one would ever detect him made
him a consummate actor. He had long made up his mind how he would
greet Caffyn when they met again, and he was delighted to find himself
so composed and equal to the occasion.

Caffyn stood looking after the carriage as it drove away with them; he
had quite lost his bearings: the paper in Holroyd's hand, Mark's own
behaviour in so many instances, Vincent's rapid pursuit, had all
seemed to point so clearly to one conclusion--