'So we're on a level after all, are we?' he said savagely, as he shut the door. Holroyd simply asked him what he meant. 'You know!' said Mark. 'All that generosity at Laufingen was a sham, was it--a blind? It didn't suit you that I should give myself up of my own free will, and so soon, so you put me off my guard! And now'--his voice was thick with passion as he spoke--'now you have set that villain, that d----d Caffyn, on me! Chivalrous that, isn't it? I've fallen into good hands between you!' Vincent was hardly less angry. 'You think every one is like yourself!' he said. 'If it is any comfort to you to believe that I can break my word and betray those who trusted it, believe it--it's not worth my while to set you right?' No one who saw his face could doubt that he, at least, was no traitor; and Mark felt lower than ever as he realised his mistake. 'Forgive me!' he stammered. 'I see, I ought to have known better. I hardly know what I am saying or doing just now--but Caffyn has found out everything, and--and who could have told him?' 'If any one betrayed you, it must have been yourself!' said Vincent. 'Look here, Ashburn, don't give it up like this--keep your head, man! He can't really _know_ this, it must be all guesswork. Did he mention my name?' 'Yes,' said Mark. 'Well, I must have it out with him, then. What does it matter what he says if we both contradict him? I think I shall be able to manage him; only, for Heaven's sake, keep cool, leave everything to me, try to be your usual self. Where is this rehearsal going on? Let us go there at once--you'll be wanted!' Mark said no more just then; he led the way to the music-room, and then went himself to the part which was screened off as a green-room. The music-room was a long high gallery, at one end of which the stage had been set up. There was a small audience of a dozen or so, who were mostly related to the performers, and admitted only because it had not been found practicable to keep them out. The rehearsal had just begun as Vincent entered. It was much like most rehearsals, and would hardly lose its tediousness in description. There were constant interruptions and repetitions, and most of the characters wore the air of people who had been induced to play a game they thought silly, but who were resolved to maintain their self-respect as long as possible; this appearance might be due to an artistic reserve of force in some cases, in others to nervousness, in nearly all to a limited knowledge of the lines they had to deliver, and all these causes would certainly be removed 'on the night,' because the actors said so themselves. Still, on that particular evening, they prevented the play from being seen to the best advantage.