“He would have overcome it more quickly and thoroughly had he informed you that he had had the honor of horse-whipping your ci-devant betrothed!” sneered Winston, with white dinted nostrils. “That he was the author of the letter, a portion of which I copied for your perusal, when I announced the dissolution of your provisional engagement--the main agent, in effect, of the rupture, since but for him I should have had much difficulty in proving what I had believed from the beginning--that the rascal ought to be shot for presuming to think of you in any other light than as the merest acquaintance. And he should never have been that, had I been with you that unlucky summer.” “We have been over that ground so often, Winston, that both of us should be tolerably familiar with it,” rejoined Mabel, decidedly. “I prefer that, instead of reviewing the circumstances of what you term my 'early fault,' you should show me the evidence of your singular assertion respecting Mr. Dorrance's agency in a matter in which he could not at that time have had the slightest personal interest. Or, shall I ask him? It is an enigma to me.” Without other answer than a contemptuous laugh, Winston left the room, unnoticed by the musicians. But before she could form a conjecture as to the meaning of his abrupt movement, he was back with a letter in his hand. “Documentary testimony!” he said, shortly, passing it to her. “I should have forwarded it entire, instead of transcribing an extract, but for Clara's fear lest you should be led thereby to dislike her brother before you had ever seen him. I take it there is no danger of prejudicing you against him now!” The letter was from Herbert Dorrance, and began thus: “Mr. Aylett: “Dear Sir,--Your favor of the 15th, enclosed in one from my sister, reached me this morning.” Then followed the expose of Frederic Chilton's misdeeds, which Winston had transferred to his own epistle to Mabel, as the leading argument in his refusal to sanction her engagement. Mabel read it through without flinching; then turned over to the first page and put her finger upon a paragraph. “Who was the lady here mentioned?” Mr. Aylett shrugged his fine shoulders. “I have never interested myself to inquire. Beyond the statement of your friend's rascality, the story was nothing to me.” “Herbert!” The ringing call--sharp and clear--checked the pianists in the middle of a bar. “Step here a moment, if you please!” The novelty of the imperative tone and the glitter of his wife's eyes moved Mr. Dorrance to more prompt compliance than he would have adjudged to be dignified and husbandly in the case of another man. Mabel held out the letter at his approach, still pointing to the passage she had asked her brother to explain. “To whom does this refer? Who was the relative whose husband was a naval officer?”