"It is so easy to make a mistake, Major Rockley," continued the MC, on finding that it was more simple to attack than he had expected. "I never make mistakes, sir," said the Major haughtily. "I should not have spoken to you like this, sir, if the act had not been seen," said Denville, angrily now. "Act? Seen? Good heavens, sir! Do you take me for a thief?" said Rockley, in a hoarse whisper. "Do you think--why--confound! I am astounded!" He had been angrily thrusting a hand into first one and then another pocket, bringing out a snuff-box, then a handkerchief, and lastly the little morocco case. "That must be it, Major Rockley," said the MC coldly; and their eyes met with a curiously long stare. "As you say, Mr Denville, mistakes are so easily made. I am in your debt for this--I shall never forget it. You will excuse me now, I am sure. The little matter has agitated me more than I should care to own." The MC bowed. "Seen, you said, I think? Was it you who saw me pick up that case--by accident?" "No, sir." "Would you oblige me with the name of the person?" "It is not necessary," said Denville. "I am master of the ceremonies, sir, of my own house. This affair, I may tell you, will be kept private by us both." Major Rockley bowed and turned to gaze round the room, to see if he could select Denville's informant; but there was no one whom he felt ready to blame but Richard Linnell--Barclay he knew it could not be--or was it that handsome Cora Dean? He turned again close by the door, and tried to catch Claire Denville's eyes; but she was talking gravely to Linnell, so, half bowing to Denville, he said quietly: "Thank you for excusing me. Of course, I rely upon the discretion of yourself and friend. Adieu." "_Adieu_," and he left with curses and deadly threats in his breast. "Had man ever such luck!" he hissed, as he strode by the house, glancing up at the well-lit balcony and drawing-room, from which he turned with an involuntary shudder. "Curse the old idiot, but I'll serve him out for this presently. I wonder whether the old dancing-master cares for his girl and boy? Well," he added, with a peculiar smile, "we shall soon see." Volume Two, Chapter XIV. AT THE CARD-TABLE. "Friends?" Richard Linnell was saying, as he stood looking earnestly at Claire. "Nothing more?" "No," she said, in a low, sad voice; "always, come what may, your grateful friend." She turned to her sister, who was watching her, and met her with: "Claire dear, you're going mad. That man hasn't a penny." "Well?" said Claire gravely. "And you are encouraging him." "As you are encouraging Sir Harry Payne? No, May; you are mistaken." "I declare if you are going to insult me I will not stay," cried May, turning scarlet. "It is disgraceful. It is cruel. If I could only find Frank--"