When John Thorpe, closely followed by Rutley, entered the great ballroom in search of Corway, the guests who saw him were struck with the pallor of his face and the strangely piercing yet lustreless dark eyes that shone out from beneath his shaggy, frowning eyebrows. His cold, stony look repelled all smiles and discouraged all questions. Through the room he strode, regardless alike of the timid whisperings of women and offended stare of men. He cared not what they thought, for every sentiment of rudeness or discourtesy, every tender feeling of grief or pain, was drowned by his one great mad, overpowering passion to wreak summary vengeance on the author of his bitter shame. Not for a moment had he suspected "My Lord's" integrity and utter disinterestedness, and the maddening fire of his disgrace kindled within him and fanned to a crucible heat by Rutley burned with unquenchable fury. Men of the temperament of John Thorpe are not blessed with a stoical mind in moments of great excitement, nor are they apt to pause and tranquilly reason out the pros and cons of this most prolific source of human tragedies. He had loved his wife too fondly and too well to go and openly charge her with unfaithfulness. His life heretofore had been very happy, but now the first "damned spot" in the clear blue of his domestic horizon would not out, the feeling of suspicion would not smother. And it grew and enlarged with amazing rapidity, and haunted him till the very thought of Corway aroused his latent jealousy to a pitch that became unbearable. Rutley had developed the demon within him. The love that had become a fixed part of his being, flooding him with its radiance, had been violently wrenched from his heart, and his only, all-absorbing, insatiable desire was to confront the man who was responsible for it. Oh, for the frailty of human happiness! Out near the steps of the east piazza a group of ladies and gentlemen, composed of Mr. and Mrs. Harris, Mr. Corway and Hazel were chatting merrily about the new waltz and incidentally they had referred to the prolonged absence of "My Lord" and John Thorpe from the ballroom. Mrs. Harris discovered them on the piazza approaching the steps and exclaimed, "Ah, here come the truants." Without a moment's hesitation, John Thorpe descended the steps alone, Rutley remaining on the piazza. "Mr. Harris," said John Thorpe in a husky voice, "in the name of the society whom he contaminates, I demand that you eject that man from this place." This peremptory and extraordinary demand, coupled with its insinuation, stunned the hearers, who looked from one to the other in startled amazement. The dead silence that followed was broken by Mr. Harris, who answered in a grave, dazed way, as thoughts of Thorpe's sanity flitted through his brain, "But, Thorpe! I--what--I don't think--my hearing is not exactly right of late. I did not understand--"