'You fool,' said Caffyn, 'to give yourself airs with me. I've done you more than one good turn. I believe I rather liked you--you did the thing so well that I'm hanged if I should have had the heart to show you up. And now you _will_ go and make an enemy of me--is it quite prudent?' 'What do you want me to do?' asked Mark, with his hand shielding his eyes from the shaded candles near him. 'Now you're getting sensible!' said Caffyn. 'We shall hit it off yet! You've got some authority over your wife, I suppose? Use it. Stop this cackle about the letter: make her shut her mouth; I can't afford to lose the _entree_ to two houses like your father-in-law's and your own, just now. I can be discreet too--it shall be mouth for mouth. If you don't--if you stand by and let your wife and her mother go about spreading this story until I daren't show my face anywhere, why, I shall take care to come to grief in good company! Mabel can smash me if you like to let her, but if you do, by ---- it shall bring my sting out! Is it a bargain?' Mark hesitated. As they sat there he heard the sounds outside of arriving carriages and entering footsteps; people were coming in for this rehearsal. How he loathed the thought of it now! How was he to go through it? 'We shall have to go presently,' said Caffyn. 'I am waiting for my answer--yes or no?' 'No,' said Mark. 'I see no use in playing mouse to your cat. Do you think I don't know that it would come out sooner or later--if not from you, from _him_? As to forcing my wife to receive you as a friend, I'm not quite rascal enough for that yet. Do whatever you please!' It was despair more than anything that drove him to defiance, for his knowledge of Mabel showed him that the bargain proposed, apart from its rascality, was an impossible one. 'Well,' said Caffyn, with a shrug, 'you leave me no choice, so in the course of a day or two, my friend, look out for squally weather! Whether I sink or swim myself, I shall see _you_ go to the bottom!' Mr. Featherstone, who was getting slightly tired of the enthusiastic young amateurs at his end of the table, here suggested an adjournment to the music-room. 'You'll come and look on, sir, won't you?' said his son. But the merchant shook his head. 'I think I can hold on till the night itself, Bertie, my boy!' with a cleverly fielded yawn. 'I hear all about it from your mother. You'll find me in the billiard-room if you want me, you know!' Mark rose from the table to which he had sat down with so light a heart. Black disgrace was before him, the Laufingen crisis had come again, and this time nothing could save him. He lingered behind the other men as they mounted the broad staircase, and as he lingered was overtaken by Vincent, who had just left his hat and overcoat below, and was about to go upstairs. 'Stop!' cried Mark. 'Don't go up yet, I want to speak to you. Come in here!' and he almost forced him into the library, which was empty, and where a lamp was burning.