'Now that's just where you are wrong. I don't know when I've fancied anything so much as what I told you.' 'What you told me?' 'About her being in Paris. I hope she'll stay a month!' 'I don't understand you,' Laura said. 'Are you very sure, Laura? My dear, it suits my book! Now you know yourself he's not the first.' Laura was silent; his round eyes were fixed on her face and she saw something she had not seen before--a little shining point which on Lionel's part might represent an idea, but which made his expression conscious as well as eager. 'He?' she presently asked. 'Whom are you speaking of?' 'Why, of Charley Crispin, G----' And Lionel Berrington accompanied this name with a startling imprecation. 'What has he to do----?' 'He has everything to do. Isn't he with her there?' 'How should I know? You said Lady Ringrose.' 'Lady Ringrose is a mere blind--and a devilish poor one at that. I'm sorry to have to say it to you, but he's her lover. I mean Selina's. And he ain't the first.' There was another short silence while they stood opposed, and then Laura asked--and the question was unexpected--'Why do you call him Charley?' 'Doesn't he call me Lion, like all the rest?' said her brother-in-law, staring. 'You're the most extraordinary people. I suppose you have a certain amount of proof before you say such things to me?' 'Proof, I've oceans of proof! And not only about Crispin, but about Deepmere.' 'And pray who is Deepmere?' 'Did you never hear of Lord Deepmere? He has gone to India. That was before you came. I don't say all this for my pleasure, Laura,' Mr. Berrington added. 'Don't you, indeed?' asked the girl with a singular laugh. 'I thought you were so glad.' 'I'm glad to know it but I'm not glad to tell it. When I say I'm glad to know it I mean I'm glad to be fixed at last. Oh, I've got the tip! It's all open country now and I know just how to go. I've gone into it most extensively; there's nothing you can't find out to-day--if you go to the right place. I've--I've----' He hesitated a moment, then went on: 'Well, it's no matter what I've done. I know where I am and it's a great comfort. She's up a tree, if ever a woman was. Now we'll see who's a beetle and who's a toad!' Lionel Berrington concluded, gaily, with some incongruity of metaphor. 'It's not true--it's not true--it's not true,' Laura said, slowly. 'That's just what she'll say--though that's not the way she'll say it. Oh, if she could get off by your saying it for her!--for you, my dear, would be believed.' 'Get off--what do you mean?' the girl demanded, with a coldness she failed to feel, for she was tingling all over with shame and rage. 'Why, what do you suppose I'm talking about? I'm going to haul her up and to have it out.' 'You're going to make a scandal?'