It referred to a long-deferred bequest from a cousin, and was a simple matter enough. But Dibbin realizing an estate in the north of Scotland and Dibbin writing typewritten testimonials of Van Hupfeldt in London on one and the same day was a Mahatma performance, a case of psychic projection which did not enter into the ordinary scheme of things. Nevertheless, Violet, save for one flash of intensest surprise in those deep eyes of hers, maintained her self-control. She had been so tried already that her mind could withstand any shock. "It is nothing, mother--merely a reference to the Auchlachan affair," she said, crushing the telegram into a little ball in her hand. "Ah!" said Mrs. Mordaunt, greatly relieved. "I dreamed of Aunt Jane last night." "Well, now," said Van Hupfeldt, after a bound or two of his heart, "what do you say? Mr. Sharpe will be here soon." "You have the certificates and the diary?" said Violet. "The certificates, yes; not the diary. On calm thought, I have decided irrevocably that the diary shall not be placed in your hands until the lapse of our six months' agreement. I have yielded every other point; there I am rigid." "Do you assign any reason?" "Yes, my right as your affianced husband to preserve you from the grief and morbidness of reading a record of suffering. I would not have you a weeping bride. When we return from our wedding-tour I shall hand you the diary, no sooner." "The certificates, then," said Violet, composedly. Van Hupfeldt took two papers from a pocket-book. One recorded the marriage of Henry Van Hupfeldt to Gwendoline Mordaunt at the office of the Brighton registrar. The other was the certificate of the birth of the child in the same town a year later. It was a fine piece of daring for the man to produce these documents. His own name; his age, thirty eight; his occupation, gentleman, were set forth on the long narrow strip, and the address was given as No. 7, Eddystone Mansions, London, W. Even Mrs. Mordaunt was startled when she glanced over her daughter's shoulder at the papers. Suddenly Violet thought she saw a ray of light. "Was this man a brother, some near relative, of yours?" she asked. "No, no relation." Van Hupfeldt was taken aback, and the negative flew out before he realized that this might have been a good card to play. But no; Violet would never have married him then. "What a mystery! To think that he should adopt your name, be of your apparent age, and yet that you should come here to Rigsworth and make our acquaintance!" "No mystery at all. You drag everything from me like a skilled lawyer. Strauss did more than borrow my name; he forged it. There was a police inquiry. I was called into it. My curiosity was aroused. I learned something of your sister's story, and I took steps to meet you." "Introduced by Lord Vanstone!" murmured Mrs. Mordaunt. "Yes, some one. I quickly forgot all else when I was granted the privilege of your friendship."