"How so?" courage to put the question
scornfully. "Is it not rather Rotherby you have to thank that the
disclosures did not come six months ago? What was it saved you but the
friendship his Grace of Wharton had for Charles?"

"Why, then," stormed his lordship, "did he not see to't that he
preserved that friendship? It but needed a behavior of as much decency
and honor as Wharton exacts in his associates--and the Lord knows how
much that is!" he sneered. "As it is, he has gone even lower than that
abandoned scourer; so low that even this rakehell duke must become his
enemy for his own credit's sake. He attempts mock-marriages with ladies
of quality; and he attempts murder by stabbing through the back a
gentleman who has spared his worthless life. Not even the president of
the Hell Fire Club can countenance these things, strong stomach though
he have for villainy. It is something to have contrived to come so low
that even his Grace of Wharton must turn upon him, and swear his ruin.
And so that he may ruin him, his grace is determined to ruin me. Now you
understand, madam--and you, Mr. Caryll."

Mr. Caryll understood. He understood even more than his lordship meant
him to understand; more than his lordship understood, himself. So, too,
did her ladyship, if we may judge from the reply she made him.

"You fool," she railed. "You vain, blind, selfish fool! To blame
Rotherby for this. Rather should Rotherby, blame you that by your damned
dishonesty have set a weapon against him in his enemy's hands."

"Madam!" he roared, empurpling, and coming heavily to his feet. "Do you
know who I am?"

"Ay--and what you are, which is something you will never know. God! Was
there ever so self-centered a fool? Compassionate me, Heaven!" She rose,
too, and turned to Mr. Caryll. "You, sir," she said to him, "you have
been dragged into this, I know not why."

She broke off suddenly, looking at him, her eyes a pair of gimlets now
for penetration. "Why have you been dragged into it?" she demanded.
"What is here? I demand to know. What help does my lord expect from
you that he tells you this? Does he--" She paused an instant, a cunning
smile breaking over her wrinkled, painted face. "Does he propose to sell
himself to the king over the water, and are you a secret agent come to
do the buying? Is that the answer to this riddle?"

Mr. Caryll, imperturbable outwardly, but very ill at ease within, smiled
and waved the delicate hand that appeared