"Upon my word, I don't believe he had a proper name in the first instance. Anyway, if he had, the vicar suppressed it. You know how cracked he is on Hebrew symbolism. Well, I suppose he saw a good chance here of indulging in it, so what do you think he christened the chap? Gideon Anab! Upon my soul he did! Gideon Anab! for a gutter whelp like that!" "Construe, Major." "Well, I believe it means 'one who breaks asunder'--so the old man says. I told him to look out for himself, or the chap might try and live up to it. No, by the way, that's the meaning of 'Gideon' only. Anab means thick, round. Well, he is thick and round now--thanks to plenty to eat and nothing to do. Of course the whole thing is perfectly crazy." Miriam was becoming very nervous. An idea had flashed across her mind which she could in no way get rid of. "But surely, Major," she said, "the boy had some sort of name when Mrs. Parsley came across him?" "Yes, I believe he had. Shorty or Snorty, or something like that. However, that's nowhere now. Gideon Anab he is, and Gideon Anab I suppose he will----My dear Mrs. Arkel, are you ill?" Miriam, her worst suspicions confirmed, had turned deathly pale. It _was_ Shorty then--Shorty at Lesser Thorpe--with Mrs. Parsley. Fate was indeed relentless. He was an iniquitous young scoundrel she knew, and cunning beyond words. And he knew the whole of that black page of her life in London. She wondered had he betrayed her to Mrs. Parsley. Perhaps that was the reason she had not come to see her. She pulled herself together, and put as brave a face on it as she could. "It is nothing, Major, thank you. The room is a little close, I think. I have been feeling out of sorts all the morning. I think, if you don't mind, I'll go and lie down for a bit." Gerald glanced sharply at her, and then at Dundas. Like most weak natures he was an easy prey to suspicion. It came strongly upon him now. His wife was much agitated--there was no doubt about that. But the Major seemed perfectly calm and self-possessed. He rose and opened the door for Miriam, and expressed his wish that she would soon be better. Then he returned to the table. Gerald had it in his mind to remark upon the strangeness of his wife's behaviour. He felt convinced that the Major had something to do with it. And he would not have hesitated to tell him so but for the very weighty reason that he had every intention of getting a cheque out of him before he returned to the country. "Is your wife with you in town?" he asked. "Yes, she is with me," replied the Major finitely. "Are you in rooms?" "We are at the Soudan Hotel in Guelph Street." "Ah, it's well to be you. You couldn't do much better than the Soudan. I know it--one of the best tables in town. What the deuce did Providence give me a palate for without the means to satisfy it?" "Gerald, you've no business to talk like that--it's paltry, not to say the worst of bad form."