"You've not seen Miss Varlins since, I suppose?" Again Roger turned away his head, and again the action is noted by Mr. Fanks. "No," replied Axton, in a low voice. "I--I have not seen her since." "Lie number two," thought Octavius, wonderingly. "What does it all mean? Do you correspond with her?" he asked, aloud. "No! Confound it, Fanks, don't put me in the witness-box," cried Roger, rising to his feet. "I beg your pardon, old fellow," said Octavius, meekly, "it's a habit I've got. A very bad one, I'm afraid. Well, I hope things will go well with you and the marriage with Miss Varlins will take place." Roger, who was walking rapidly up and down the long room, now vanishing into the chill shadow, anon emerging into the warm lamp-light, stopped at the sound of the name and flung up his arms with a low cry of anguish. "Never! never!" he cried bitterly, "I shall never marry her." "Poor old chap, you do seem to be hard hit," said Octavius, sympathetically, "but hope for the best. Florry will marry her patent medicine man, and forget the scamp. Judith will marry you and forget Florry, so things will come out all straight in the long run." "I hope so," said Axton, resuming his seat, rather ashamed of his emotion; "but they don't look very promising at present. Ah, well, it's no use fighting Destiny. Do you remember the grim view old Sophocles takes of that deity? A classic Juggernaut, crushing all who oppose her. I trust I won't be one of her victims, but I'm doubtful. However, now I've told you my story, what about your own?" "Mine," said Mr. Fanks, lightly; "bless you, Roger, I'm like Canning's knife-grinder, I've got none to tell. As you know, I'm the eighth son of an impoverished country gentleman, hence my name, Octavius. All my brothers were put into the army, the navy, the Church, and all that sort of thing, so when my turn came to make a _début_ in life there was nothing left for me to do. My father, at his wits' end, suggested the colonies, that refuge for destitute younger sons, but I didn't care about turning digger or sheep farmer, and positively refused to be exiled. I came up to London to look round, and made my choice. Being fond of puzzles and cryptograms, I thought I would turn my ingenuity in unravelling enigmas to practical account, and became a detective. The family cast me off; however, I didn't mind that. I left off the name of Rixton and took that of Fanks--my old school name, you remember--so I didn't disgrace the Rixtons of Derbyshire. Being a gentleman doesn't mean bread and butter in these democratic days; and though my pedigree's as long as the tail of a kite, it was quite as useless in a commercial sense. Besides, the detective business is just as honourable as any other, and also very exciting, so I don't regret having gone in for it. I get well paid also, and the life suits me." "Is your father reconciled to you yet?"