Caffyn did not give up even then--he tried one last probe: 'Of course,' he said; 'I forgot, your husband kept him so completely in the dark about it all--eh, Mark? Why, when you got him to come down to Wastwater with me, he had no idea what festivities were in preparation--had he?' 'No, my boy,' said Mark, with a perfectly natural and artistic laugh; 'I really don't believe he had--you mustn't be shocked, darling,' he added to Mabel; 'it was all for his good, poor fellow. I must tell you some day about our little conspiracy. It's all very well for you, though,' he turned to Caffyn again, 'to put it all on to me--you had more to do with it than I--it was your own idea, you know!' 'Oh!' said Caffyn; 'well, if you like to put it in that way----.' He lost his self-possession completely--there was something in all this he could not at all understand. The fact was that Mark felt himself able now to face the whole world with equanimity; the knowledge that no one would ever detect him made him a consummate actor. He had long made up his mind how he would greet Caffyn when they met again, and he was delighted to find himself so composed and equal to the occasion. Caffyn stood looking after the carriage as it drove away with them; he had quite lost his bearings: the paper in Holroyd's hand, Mark's own behaviour in so many instances, Vincent's rapid pursuit, had all seemed to point so clearly to one conclusion--yet what was he to think now? He began for the first time to distrust his own penetration; he very much feared that his elaborate scheme of revenge was a failure, that he must choose some other means of humbling Mabel, and must begin all over again, which was a distressing thought to a young man in his situation. He was glad now that he had never talked of his suspicions, and had done nothing openly compromising. He would not give up even yet, until he had seen Holroyd, and been able to pump him judiciously; until then he must bear the dismal suspicion that he had overreached himself. One of his shafts at least had not fallen altogether wide, for as Mark and Mabel were being driven home across the Park, she said suddenly: 'So _Harold_ knew that Vincent was alive, then?' 'Yes,' said Mark, '_he_ knew,' and he looked out of the window at the sunset as he spoke. 'And you and Harold kept him from hearing of our wedding?' she said. 'Mark, I thought you said that you had told him?' 'Oh, no,' said Mark; 'you misunderstood--there--there were reasons.' 'Tell me them,' said Mabel. 'Well,' said Mark, 'Vincent was ill--anyone could see that what he wanted was rest, and that the fatigue and--and--the excitement of a wedding would be too much for him--Caffyn wanted a companion up at Wastwater, and begged me to say nothing about our marriage just then, and leave it to him to tell him quietly later on--that's all, darling.'