Most certainly John Strong remembered it. The expression on his massive and determined face betrayed the unpleasant familiarity of those few syllables. He sat in silence for the moment, his gray eyes fixed on the woman before him. “So, madam,” he said, “you desire this interview to be kept secret. Will you kindly inform me what its purpose is?” “Does my name suggest it to you?” “I have my suspicions.” “And you will consider any information I may give you as privileged?” “How privileged, madam?” “That you may make use of it where and when you like, provided my name is never mentioned.” John Strong settled himself firmly in his chair like the man of weight and substance that he was. “Well, madam,” he said, “I make you this promise. I suppose what you have to tell me concerns my son.” Miss Saker touched her lips with her handkerchief and coughed suggestively. She assumed an air of reluctance with a cleverness that did her adaptability credit. “Mr. Strong,” she said, impressively, “I have suffered greatly in my mind since certain unfortunate facts came to my knowledge. Doubt and indecision have made a martyr of me. You will sympathize, Mr. Strong, when I confess to you that I have been torn between friendship and a sense of duty.” John Strong nodded like a judge. “Let me assure you, madam, that you have my sympathy,” he said. Miss Saker pressed her hand tragically to her forehead and aped the manner of a popular actress whom she admired. “How dreadful a thing it is,” she observed, “to find that one has been deceived!” “Most painful, madam.” “Your son, Mr. Strong—” “My son, yes, madam.” “Was absolutely innocent, as was the girl whose honor they traduced.” Miss Saker’s brown eyes were fixed expectantly upon the old man’s face. She had promised herself some dramatic excitement in watching the effect of her disclosures upon Gabriel’s father. The result was less sensational than she could have imagined. She saw the old man sink more deeply into his chair. His head was bowed down over his chest, and there was a sudden spasm as of pain upon his face. “Please explain,” he said, in a strange voice. Mabel Saker, somewhat frightened, pretended inordinate concern. “Oh, Mr. Strong, the truth has been too much for you. I have been clumsy. Oh—” The old man quieted her with a gesture of the hand. “If you would be kind to me,” he said, “please tell me quickly all you know. It was a conspiracy, I suppose.” Miss Saker began to lose her melodramatic action. “Major Maltravers—” “Major Maltravers. Exactly.” “He was in love with Ophelia Gusset.” “Exactly.” “Ophelia was sick of your son.” “So I have heard.” “People wrote anonymous letters.” “People do that sort of thing—women, I should have said.” “You understand me.” “Perfectly, madam; and the witnesses?” Miss Saker put two plump fingers before her mouth. “Bribery,” she lisped; “inquire at Callydon, Mr. Strong, and elsewhere; inquire at St. Aylmers. I need not advise you in this.”