Still it was unquestionably necessary that he should assume the sheet and candle, or put up with an alternative hardly, if at all, less unpleasant. The "Fourth Paragraph" had appeared. It was called a paragraph for the sake of uniformity, but it was in reality a narrative, stretching to a couple of columns, and giving a detailed account of the attempted identification. For once, George implicitly believed the editor's statement that his information came to him on unimpeachable authority. The story was clearly not only inspired by, but actually written by the hand of Gerald himself, and it breathed a bitter hostility to himself that grieved George none the less because it was very natural. This hostility showed itself, here and there, in direct attack; more constantly in irony and ingenious ridicule. George's look, manner, tones, and walk were all pressed into the service. In a word, the article certainly made him look an idiot; he rather thought it made him look a malignant idiot. "What can you do?" demanded Mr. Blodwell again. "You can't bring up any more people from Peckton. You chose your witnesses, and they let you in." George nodded. "You went to Bournemouth, and you found--what? Not that Mrs. What's-her-name--Horne--was a myth, as you expected, or conveniently--and, mind you, not unplausibly--dead, as I expected, but an actual, existent, highly respectable, though somewhat doting, old lady. She had you badly there, George my boy!" "Yes," admitted George. "I wonder if she knew the woman was alive?" "She chanced it; wished she might be dead, perhaps, but chanced it. That, George, is where Mrs. Witt is great." "Mrs. Horne doesn't remember her being there in March, or indeed April." "Perhaps not; but she doesn't say the contrary." "Oh, no. She said that if the character says March, of course it was March." "The 'of course' betrays a lay mind. But still the character does say March--for what it's worth." "The copy of it does." "I know what you mean. But think before you say that, George. It's pretty strong; and you haven't a tittle of evidence to support you." "I don't want to say a word. I'll let them alone, if they'll let me alone. But that woman's Nelly Game, as sure as I'm----" "An infernally obstinate chap," put in Mr. Blodwell. Probably what George meant by being "let alone," was the cessation of paragraphs in the _Bull's-eye_. If so, his wish was not gratified. "Will Mr. George Neston"--George's name was no longer "withheld"--"retract?" took, in the columns of that publication, much the position occupied by _Delenda est Carthago_ in the speeches of Cato the Elder. It met the reader on the middle page; it lurked for him in the leading article; it appeared, by way of playful reference, in the city intelligence; one man declared he found it in an advertisement, but this no doubt was an oversight--or perhaps a lie.