“You?” said Rex, smiling and shaking hands. “Mr Clifford, this is Mr Bulfinch; Mr Braith,”—but Mr Bulfinch was already bowing to Braith and offering his hand, though with a curious diminution of his first beaming cordiality. Braith’s constraint was even more marked. He had turned quite white. Bulfinch and Gethryn, who had risen to receive him, remained standing side by side, stranded on the shoals of an awkward situation. The little _Mirror_ man made a grab at a topic which he thought would float them off, and laid hold instead on one which upset them altogether. “I hope Mrs Braith is well. She met you all right at Vienna?” Braith bowed stiffly, without answering. Rex gave him a quick look, and turning on his heel, said carelessly: “I see you and Mr Braith are old acquaintances, so I won’t scruple to leave you with him for a moment. Bring Mr Bulfinch over to the music stand, Braith.” And smiling, as if he were assisting at a charming reunion, he led Clifford away. The latter turned, as he departed, an eye of delighted intelligence upon Braith. To renew his acquaintance with Mr Bulfinch was the last thing Braith desired, but since the meeting had been thrust upon him he thanked Gethryn’s tact for removing such a witness of it as Clifford would have been. He had no intention, however, of talking with the little _Mirror_ man, and maintained a profound silence, smoking steadily. This conduct so irritated the other that he determined to force an explanation of the matter which seemed so distasteful to his ungracious companion. He certainly thought he had his own reasons for resenting the sight of Braith upon a high horse, and he resumed the conversation with all the jaunty ease which the calling of newspaper correspondent is said to cultivate. “I hope Mrs Braith found no difficulty in meeting you in Vienna?” “Madame was not my wife, and we did not meet in Vienna,” said Braith shortly. Bulfinch began to stare, and to feel a little less at ease. “She told me—that is, her courier came to me and—” “Her courier? Mr Bulfinch, will you please explain what you are talking about?” Braith turned square around and looked at him in a way that caused a still further diminution of his jauntiness and a proportionate increase of respect. “Oh—I’ll explain, if I know what you want explained. We were at Brindisi, were we not?” “Yes.” “On our way to Cairo?” “Yes.” “In the same hotel?” “Yes.” “But I had no acquaintance with madame, and had only exchanged a word or two with you, when you were suddenly summoned to Paris by a telegram.” Braith bowed. He remembered well the false dispatch that had drawn him out of the way. “Well, and when you left you told her you would be obliged to give up going to Cairo, and asked her to meet you in Vienna, whither you would have to go from Paris?” “Oh, did I?” “And you recommended a courier to her whom you knew very well, and in whom you had great confidence.” “Ah! And what was that courier’s name?”