“Never mind--not to-day--another time. Thank you; a--good morning. Come along, Geoffrey,” said the Honorable Mark, backing himself through a swing-door, and effecting his exit with extraordinary promptitude, leaving Mr. Bagge under an impression that he had been visited by a gentleman who ought to be carefully looked after by his friends, if not immediately consigned to a lunatic asylum. “It is a queer business, Geoff,” exclaimed Mr. Mayhew, once they found themselves in the street, “a very queer business!” striding along at a tremendous pace, and looking very red in the face; “but Reginald’s sure to make it all right, you may take your oath of that. Just leave it to him to settle. He’ll be back in a couple of days. Mind you don’t miss the train--it’s now a quarter-past five. Here’s a hansom. Hop in, or you’ll be late. Give Alice my love, and tell her it’s all right; it will be all cleared up when Rex comes home. Waterloo,” to the driver. “All very fine,” muttered Geoffrey to himself as he was rattled over the pavement; “I wish he had to face Miss Fane, with Bagge’s opinion, instead of me. She’ll get it out of me before she sleeps to-night, so I suppose I had better make a virtue of necessity and tell the truth at once. Won’t she just make a row!” Alice having despatched Geoffrey, and seen him fairly off to the station, as fast as the fastest harness hack could take him, went up to her own room, and there read her husband’s letter, from which her attention had been so rudely diverted. It was a nice letter for a young wife to get--not a spooney, love-lorn effusion, but a good, rational, amusing letter, that had evidently given as much pleasure to the writer to write as to Alice to receive, and that, without fulsome extravagance, breathed a spirit of true, proud, tender love from the first page to the last. Till now, yesterday’s had been to Alice the best and most precious of letters; now to-day’s came to put it aside, and would in turn give place to to-morrow’s, for the last was always the most prized. Having read and re-read her letter, Alice felt a double reliance on her husband and a sovereign contempt for the marriage certificate, which must be either someone else’s or intended for a shameful hoax. Much emboldened and encouraged by these reflections, Alice ran downstairs in search of Miss Fane, whom she found knitting in the morning-room, with an ominous purse on her lips and a frown on her brow. She was sitting in the window, and merely raised her eyes for a second as Alice entered. Alice approached her, and, leaning against the window--with one hand in her pocket surreptitiously grasping her precious letter--plunged boldly into conversation.