t she not to know it?

'My love,' she said to Mabel, taking her hands, 'you know I don't
believe a word of all this--it is some strange mistake, I am sure of
it, but it ought, perhaps, to be cleared up. If I were to speak to Mr.
Caffyn alone now!'

'I shall be very willing,' said Caffyn.

'No!' said Mabel, eagerly, 'if he has anything to say, let him say it
here--Mark must not be stabbed in the dark!'

'It's simply impossible to speak here,' said Caffyn. 'People may come
in at any moment through those doors as soon as this waltz is over.
Mrs. Featherstone will not thank either of us for making a scene.'

'The doors can be locked,' cried Mabel. 'There need be no scene. _May_
they be locked, dear Mrs. Featherstone? He has said too much to be
silent any longer: he _must_ speak now!'

Caffyn stepped lightly to the doors which opened into the music-room;
the key was on his side, and he turned it. The last notes of 'My
Queen' were sounding as he did so, they could hear the sweep and
rustle of dresses as the couples passed.

'We shall not be disturbed now,' he said, unable to quite conceal his
own inclinations: 'they are not likely to come in from the staircase.
If Mrs. Featherstone really insists on my speaking, I can't refuse.'

'Must I, Mabel?' asked the elderly lady, nervously; but Mabel had
turned towards the door leading to the staircase, which had just
opened.

'Here is Mark to answer for himself!' she cried, as she went to meet
him. 'Now, Harold, whatever you have to say against Mark, say it to
his face!'

Mark's entrance was not so opportune as it seemed; he had been
standing unnoticed at the door for some time, waiting until he could
wait no longer. He faced Caffyn now, unflinchingly enough to outward
appearance; but the hand Mabel held in a soft close clasp was
strangely cold and unresponsive.

Caffyn could not have wished for a better opportunity. 'I assure you
this is very painful to me,' he said, 'but you see I cannot help
myself. I must ask Mr. Ashburn first if it is not true that this book
"Illusion," which has rendered him so famous, is not his book at
all--that from beginning to end it was written by another. Is he bold
enough to deny it?'

Mark made no answer. Mabel had almost laughed to hear so preposterous
a question--it was not wonderful that he should scorn to reply.
Suddenly she looked at his face, and her heart sickened. Many
incidents that she had attached no importance to at the time