It was singular that Seymour Michael should give way at that moment to a little shrinking movement of fear--back and away, not from Jem, who towered huge and powerful above him, but from the frail and delicate younger brother. Mark Ruthine, who was standing behind, saw the movement and wondered at it. For it would appear that, of all his judges, Seymour Michael feared the weakest most. And so the second link was welded on to the first, while only Anna Agar knew the motive that had prompted Michael to suppress the news. She divined that it was spite towards herself, and for once in her life, with that intuition which only comes at supreme moments, she had the wisdom to bide her time. Then at last Seymour Michael spoke. He did not raise his eyes, but his words were evidently addressed to Arthur. “I acted,” he said, “as I thought best. Secrecy was necessary for Agar's safety. I knew that if I told you too much you would tell your mother, and--I know your mother better than either you or Jem Agar know her. She is not fit to be trusted with the most trifling secret.” “Well, you see, you were quite wrong,” burst out Mrs. Agar, with a derisive laugh. “For I knew it all along. Arthur told me at the first.” Her voice came as a shock to them all. It was harsh and common, the voice of the street-wrangler. “Then,” cried Seymour Michael, as sharp as fate, “why did you not tell Miss Glynde?” He raised his arm, pointing one lean dark finger into her face. “I knew,” he hissed, “that the boy would tell you. I counted on it. Why did you not tell Miss Glynde? Come! Tell us why.” Mark Ruthine's face was a study. It was the face of a very keen sportsman at the corner of a “drive.” In every word he saw twice as much as simple Jem Agar ever suspected. “Well,” answered Mrs. Agar, wavering, “because I thought it better not.” “No,” Dora said, “you kept it from me because you wanted me to marry Arthur. And you thought that I should do so because he was master of Stagholme. You wanted to trick me into marrying Arthur before”--she hesitated--“before--” “Before I came back,” added Jem imperturbably. “That was it, that was it!” cried Seymour Michael, grasping at the straw which might serve to turn the current aside from himself. But the attempt failed. No one took any notice of it. Jem was looking at Dora, and she was looking anywhere except at him. It was Jem who spoke, with the decisiveness of the president of a court-martial. “That will come afterwards,” he said. “And now, perhaps,” he went on, turning towards Seymour, “you will kindly explain why you broke your word to me. Explain it to these l---- [sic.] to Miss Glynde.” Seymour Michael shrugged his shoulders. “Why, what is the good of making all this fuss about it now?” he explained. “It has all come right. I acted as I thought best. That is all the explanation I have to offer.” “Can you not do better than that?” inquired Jem, with a dangerous suavity. “You had better try.”