"Look here, Frank," said Dick rather warmly, "I came here to try and do you a good turn, not to hear John Huish backbitten. He's a good, true-hearted fellow, who has been slandered up and down, and he don't deserve it." Morrison sat up, stared at him in wonder, and then burst into a scornful laugh. "Dick Millet," he exclaimed, "you called me a fool a little while ago. I won't call you so, only ask you whether you don't think you are one." "I dare say I am," said Dick sharply. "But look here, are you prepared to prove all this about John Huish?" "Every bit of it, and ten times as much," said Morrison. "Why, this scoundrel won or cheated me of the money that paid for his wedding trip. He was with me till the last instant. Yes, and, as well as I can recollect, after he had got your sister away." Dick's cigar went out, and his forehead began to pucker up. "Look here," he said: "you told me that he sent you the note that made you go home that night. Where were you?" "At a supper with some actresses." "But John Huish was not there!" "Not there. Why, he was present with the lady who was his companion up to the time that he honoured your sister with his name. I believe he visits her now." "I can't stand this," cried Dick, throwing away his cigar. "How a fellow who calls himself a man can play double in this way gets over me. Frank Morrison, if I did as much I should feel as if I had `liar' written on my face, ready for my wife to see. It's too much to believe about John Huish. I can't--I won't have it. Why, it would break poor little Gerty's heart." "Break her heart!" said Morrison bitterly. "Perhaps she would take a leaf out of her sister's book." "Confound you, Frank Morrison!" cried Dick, in a rage, as he jumped up and faced his brother-in-law. "I won't stand it. My two sisters are as pure as angels. Do you dare to tell me to my face that you believe Renee guilty?" There was a dead silence in the room, and at last Frank Morrison spoke. "Dick," he said, and his voice shook, "you are a good fellow. You are right: I am a fool and a scoundrel." "Yes," cried Dick; "but do you dare to tell me you believe that of Renee?" "I'd give half my life to know that she was innocent," groaned Morrison. "You are a fool, then," cried Dick, "or you'd know it. There, I didn't come to quarrel, but to try and make you both happy; and now matters are ten times worse. But I won't believe this about John." "It's true enough," said Morrison sadly. "Poor little lass! I liked Gertrude. You should not have let that scoundrel have her." "We have a weakness for letting our family marry scoundrels." "Yes," said Morrison, speaking without the slightest resentment; "she had better have had poor Lord Henry Moorpark." "Oh!" said Dick. "There, I'm going. 'Day." He moved towards the door, but Morrison stopped him. "Dick," he said; "did Renee know you were coming?" "No," was the curt reply. "Is she--is she still at your uncle's?"