"We are," said Kingsley, somewhat nettled at this pinning down. "Then you mean that some gentlemen are whimsical?" "I mean that." "In what respect is this Mr. Loveday a gentleman? Does he come of an old family?" "I do not know." "Do you know anything of his family?" "Nothing." "Is he a man of means?" "No." "A poor man, then?" "Yes." "Very poor?" "Very poor." "And travels about in a broken-down caravan, and you wish me to believe he is a gentleman. I would prefer to take your word, Kingsley, against that of my informant, but in this instance I cannot do so. It would be stretching the limits too far." "We will not argue it out, father." "Very well. But Mr. Loveday does not travel alone in this caravan; he has a person he calls his daughter with him." "It is coming," thought Kingsley, and he set his teeth fast, and said': "His daughter, a lady, travels with him." "So far, then, my facts are indisputable. This young woman is described to me as an artful, designing person who has used all her arts to entangle you--because you have a rich father." "Who dares say that?" cried Kingsley, starting up with flashing eyes. "My informant. I understand, also, that some months since she contracted secretly a disreputable marriage, and that her husband--do not interrupt me for a moment, Kingsley--has conveniently disappeared in order to give her time to bleed you, through your rich father. To go through the ceremony again would be a light matter with her." "It is a horrible calumny," cried Kingsley, in great excitement. "Although," pursued Mr. Manners, exhibiting no agitation in his voice or manner, "the circumstances of my own private life have not made me personally familiar with the tricks of adventuresses, I have in the course of my experiences learned sufficient of them to make me abhor them. How much deeper must be my abhorrence now when such a woman steps in between me and my son to destroy a cherished design which can only be carried out in his person! I will listen to no vindication, Kingsley. Before you arrived home to-night I had a strong hope that some mistake had been made in the information which has reached me concerning your proceedings. I was wrong; it is unhappily too true." "You received the information from an enemy of mine." "No, Kingsley, from a friend." "Ah!" There was here, even in the utterance of the simple word, a singular resemblance between father and son. Kingsley's voice no longer betrayed excitement, and his manner became outwardly calm. "There is only one so-called friend who could have supplied you with the information--my cousin, Mark Inglefield." Mr. Manners was silent. "Was it he, sir?" asked Kingsley. Still Mr. Manners was silent. "I judge from your silence, sir, that Mark Inglefield is the man I have to thank." During his silence Mr. Manners had been considering. "I must say something here, Kingsley. I have no right to betray another man's confidence, and you no right to betray mine."