"Hallo, are you in it too?" cried Dick. "You see we're all disciples," he added to May. She smiled slightly and turned to Jimmy Benyon who was by her, as though to speak to him; but Morewood's voice cut across her remark. "No, I'm not. I'm a sceptic there," he said. "Oh, well, you don't know anything about it," Dick assured him placidly. If plain-speaking were the order of the day, the Benyon family could hold their own. "I bet he hasn't read the prospectus," said Jimmy. "Couldn't understand it, if he had," added Dick, after a comforting gulp of champagne. "You're really splendid people to be in with," said May, looking gratefully from one brother to the other. They were so staunch, and alas, how had they been treated! For a moment Morewood said nothing; he sat smiling maliciously. "Shall I give my authority?" he asked. "It won't do you any harm if I do, because I can't call him to give evidence." "We had all the best authorities," said Dick Benyon, "as you'd know if you'd read the prospectus." "Hang the prospectus! What's the good of reading a man's puff of his own wares? But I'm certain you hadn't one authority." "Well, who's your authority?" asked Jimmy, with a contempt that he took no trouble to conceal. "What he said was confidential, you know----" "Oh, you won't get out of it like that. We're all friends here. Fire away." Thus exhorted, and indeed nothing loth--for he had not read the prospectus and knew not the full extent of what he did--Morewood drew his malicious little bow and shot his arrow, sharper-pointed than he fancied. "I suppose you'll admit," said he with the exaggerated carelessness of a man with an unanswerable case, "that poor old Maturin was some authority, and he told me in confidence--I asked him about it, you know, just to be able to warn you fellows--that there was an absolutely fatal defect in your machine." To score too great a triumph is sometimes as disconcerting as to fail. There was no chorus of indignation, no denial of Maturin's authority, no good-natured scoffing such as Morewood had expected. He looked round on faces fallen into a sudden troubled seriousness; no voice was raised in protest, gay or grave. In an instant he knew that he had done something far beyond what his humour had suggested; but what it was or how it came about, he could not tell. The Benyon brothers were not over-ready of speech in a difficulty; their thoughts were busy now, but their tongues tied. Marchmont found nothing to say; he could not help raising his eyes under half-drooped lids till they rested on May Quisante's face. There was a moment more of silence; then, answering the tacit summons of the table, May Quisante spoke. She leant forward a little, smiling, and spoke clearly and composedly.