But the duke soothed him. Under his profligate exterior his Grace of Wharton concealed--indeed, wasted--a deal of shrewdness, ability and inherent strength. “One thing at a time, my lord,” said the president of the Bold Bucks. “Let us attend to the matter of Mr. Caryll.” “Dons and the devil! Does your grace take sides with him?” “I take no sides. But I owe it to myself--we all owe it to ourselves--that this matter should be cleared.” Rotherby leered at him, his lip trembling with anger. “Does the president of the Bold Bucks pretend to administrate a court of honor?” he sneered heavily. “Your lordship will gain little by this,” Wharton admonished him, so coldly that Rotherby belatedly came to some portion of his senses again. The duke turned to Caryll. “Mr. Caryll,” said he, “Sir Harry has given you very handsome credentials, which would seem to prove you worthy the hospitality of White's. You have, however, permitted yourself certain expressions concerning his lordship here, which we cannot allow to remain where you have left them. You must retract, sir, or make them good.” His gravity, and the preciseness of his diction now, sorted most oddly with his foppish airs. Mr. Caryll closed his snuff-box with a snap. A hush fell instantly upon the company, which by now was all crowding about the little table at which sat Mr. Caryll and his three friends. A footman who entered at the moment to snuff the candles and see what the gentlemen might be requiring, was dismissed the room. When the door had closed, Mr. Caryll began to speak. One more attempt was made by Rotherby to interfere, but this attempt was disposed of by Wharton, who had constituted himself entirely master of the proceedings. “If you will not allow Mr. Caryll to speak, we shall infer that you fear what he may have to say; you will compel us to hear him in your absence, and I cannot think that you would prefer that, my lord.” My lord fell silent. He was breathing heavily, and his face was pale, his eyes angry beyond words, what time Mr. Caryll, in amiable, musical voice, with its precise and at moments slightly foreign enunciation, unfolded the shameful story of the affair at the “Adam and Eve,” at Maidstone. He told a plain, straightforward tale, making little attempt to reproduce any of its color, giving his audience purely and simply the facts that had taken place. He told how he himself had been chosen as a witness when my lord had heard that there was a traveller from France in the house, and showed how that slight circumstance had first awakened his suspicions of foul play. He provoked some amusement when he dealt with his detection and exposure of the sham parson. But in the main he was heard with a stern and ominous attention--ominous for Lord Rotherby.