Long after Lady Silchester had departed we sat round the small table glittering with plate and finely-cut glass, and loaded with choice flowers and wonderful fruits; and my senses were almost dazed by the brilliancy of my material surroundings, and the ever-flowing conversation, which seemed always to be teaching me something new and opening up fresh fields of thought. At times I scarcely knew which most to admire--the dry, pungent wit and caustic remarks of the Professor; the perfectly expressed, classical English of Mr. Later; the sound, good sense of Sir Richard, seasoned with an apparently inexhaustible stock of anecdotes and quotations culled from all imaginable sources; or the brilliant epigrams, the trenchant criticisms, and the occasional flashes of genuine eloquence by means of which Mr. Ravenor, with rare art, continually stimulated the talk. Almost unnoticed, Mr. Marx, still in his morning coat, with pale face and dark rims under his eyes, had entered and sank wearily into a seat; but, although he listened with apparent interest, he took no part in the war of words which was flashing around him. Suddenly it all came to an end. Mr. Ravenor glanced at his watch and rose. "Gentlemen," he said, "I must ask you to excuse me for an hour. If you care to see the library, Mr. Marx will show it you, or the smoking-room and billiard-room are at your service. Or if you care to remain here there is plenty more of the yellow-seal claret and the cigars are upon the table. Philip, I want you." I rose and followed him towards the door. As I did so I had to pass Mr. Marx, who had left his seat on some pretext. He leaned over towards me, haggard and pale, and pushed a slip of paper into my fingers. "Read it at once," he muttered, in a quick, low tone. Then he moved up and took Mr. Ravenor's place at the head of the table. I felt inclined to throw it back to him; but I did not. Passing across the hall, I unfolded it and read these few words, scrawled in a large, shaking hand: "You must not go to Dr. Randall's. Mr. Ravenor will give you a choice. Go anywhere but there. If you neglect this warning you will repent it all your life. I swear it. Tear this up," CHAPTER XXV. MR. MARX'S WARNING. My first impulse, on glancing through Mr. Marx's brief note, was to show it to Mr. Ravenor; but, after a second's consideration, I changed my mind. Mr. Marx was a complete mystery to me. At times it seemed possible that the interest which he undoubtedly showed in me was genuine and kindly, and I struggled against my dislike of the man. Then I remembered his brutal conduct to the lunatic and the other inexplicable parts of his behaviour, and the darkest suspicions and doubts began to take shape in my imagination.