"Ah, Charley Vining, how do?" he exclaimed, smiling pleasantly as he encountered the fierce angry face at his side. "Bai Jove, what a stranger you are! Haven't set eyes on you for months." "I want a few words with you, Max," said Charley harshly. "Many as you like. Bai Jove, I don't care how much any one talks to me, so long as they don't want me to talk to them! Come upstairs." Charley followed him into his sybaritish bachelor rooms, where Max threw himself on a couch. "Cigar or pipe, Vining--which will you have? I've some capital Saint Julien, and a decent bottle or two of hock. Which shall it be? Bai Jove, man, what's the matter? Anything upset you?" "Max Bray," said Charley, striding up to the sofa and towering over its occupant, "I want to know who those ladies were that you handed into that brougham." "Bai Jove, mai dear fellow, what an uncouth kind of catechism! And suppose I don't choose to tell you?" "Curse you! I'll wring it out of you!" cried Charley fiercely. "No, bai Jove, you won't do anything of the kind," said Max coolly. "Gentlemen don't act like confounded cads. Why, man alive, I did not say I would not tell you. I'm open as the day. Do you want to know?" Charley made an impatient gesture. "Well, bai Jove, if you must know, one is a friend of mine, Mrs Marter, of Regent's-park." "And the other?" said Charley hoarsely. "The other," said Max, quietly lighting a cigar, "is another lady friend of mine--one Miss Bedford." Max must have seen those clutching fingers that moved as if about to seize him by the throat; but he did not shrink, he did not waver for an instant, but lit his cigar unmoved, and then sank luxuriously back upon the couch to smoke and stare nonchalantly in his visitor's face. That cool matter-of-fact way staggered and disarmed Charley. Had he seen the slightest sign of cowardice, he would have seized Max, and shaken him savagely; but that cool insolence seemed to the stricken man to tell of success and safety of position--the sense of being able to deal pityingly with an unfortunate rival; and it was in altered tones that Charley tore a letter from his breast, and threw it upon the table. "Who redirected that letter?" he exclaimed. Max smoked for a few moments in thoughtful silence, then, casting off all affectation, he said quietly: "Would it not be better to change the subject, Vining? It is not every horse that wins. The favourite is a dangerous nag to place your money on, as you must know. We are old friends, Vining, and I am sorry to run counter to you. Say what you will, I shall not quarrel." "Who redirected that letter?" repeated Charley, again more fiercely. "Bai Jove, Vining, this is going too far!" said Max in injured tones. "You have no right to come to a gentleman and ask him such questions." "Who redirected that letter?" Charley cried for the third time. "Well there, then, if you will have it--I did," said Max quietly. "And any others?" "Yes, all of them."