_“My husband!”_ cried the false Mrs. Vane, and in a moment she rose and darted into Triplet's inner apartment. Mr. Vane and Mr. Triplet were talking earnestly as they came up the stair. It seems the wise Triplet had prepared a little dramatic scene for his own refreshment, as well as for the ultimate benefit of all parties. He had persuaded Mr. Vane to accompany him by warm, mysterious promises of a happy _denouement;_ and now, having conducted that gentleman as far as his door, he was heard to say: “And now, sir, you shall see one who waits to forget grief, suspicion--all, in your arms. Behold!” and here he flung the door open. “The devil!” “You flatter me!” said Pomander, who had had time to recover his _aplomb,_ somewhat shaken, at first, by Mr. Vane's inopportune arrival. Now it is to be observed that Mr. Vane had not long ago seen his wife lying on her bed, to all appearance incapable of motion. Mr. Vane, before Triplet could recover his surprise, inquired of Pomander why he had sent for him. “And what,” added he, “is the grief, suspicion, I am, according to Mr. Triplet, to forget in your arms?” Mr. Vane added this last sentence in rather a testy manner. “Why, the fact is--” began Sir Charles, without the remotest idea of what the fact was going to be. “That Sir Charles Pomander--” interrupted Triplet. “But Mr. Triplet is going to explain,” said Sir Charles, keenly. “Nay, sir; be yours the pleasing duty. But, now I think of it,” resumed Triplet, “why not tell the simple truth? it is not a play! She I brought you here to see was not Sir Charles Pomander; but--” “I forbid you to complete the name!” cried Pomander. “I command you to complete the name!” cried Vane. “Gentlemen, gentlemen! how can I do both?” remonstrated Triplet. “Enough, sir!” cried Pomander. “It is a lady's secret. I am the guardian of that lady's honor.” “She has chosen a strange guardian of her honor!” said Vane bitterly. “Gentlemen!” cried poor Triplet, who did not at all like the turn things were taking, “I give you my word, she does not even know of Sir Charies's presence here!” “Who?” cried Vane, furiously. “Man alive! who are you speaking of?” “Mrs. Vane.” “My wife!” cried Vane, trembling with anger and jealousy. “She here! and with this man?” “No!” cried Triplet. “With me, with me! Not with him, of course.” “Boaster!” cried Vane, contemptuously. “But that is a part of your profession!” Pomander, irritated, scornfully drew from his pocket the ladies' joint production, which had fallen at his feet from Mrs. Woffington's hand. He presented this to Mr. Vane, who took it very uneasily; a mist swam before his eyes as he read the words: “Alone and unprotected--Mabel Vane.” He had no sooner read these words, than he found he loved his wife; when he tampered with his treasure, he did not calculate on another seeking it.