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your tones, sir——" began his lordship in a snarl.
    "He sets you each on the wrong side of him," continued Mr. Caryll, all imperturbable, "lacking even the sense to read the directions which the book contains, and he has no thought for the
circumstance that the time of day is uncanonical. Is more needed, madame?"
    "So much was not needed," said she, "though I am your debtor, sir."
    Her voice was marvelously steady, ice-cold with scorn, a royal anger increasing the glory of her eyes.
    Rotherby's hand fell away from his sword. He realized that bluster was not the most convenient weapon here. He addressed Mr. Caryll very haughtily. "You are from France, sir, and something may
be excused you. But not quite all. You have used expressions that are not to be offered to a person of my quality. I fear you scarcely apprehend it."
    "As well, no doubt, as those who avoid you, sir," answered Mr. Caryll, with cool contempt, his dislike of the man and of the business in which he had found him engaged mounting above every other
consideration.
    His lordship frowned inquiry. "And who may those be?"
    "Most decent folk, I should conceive, if this be an example of your ways."
    "By God, sir! You are a thought too pert. We'll mend that presently. I will first convince you of your error, and you, Hortensia."
    "It will be interesting," said Mr. Caryll, and meant it.
    Rotherby turned from him, keeping a tight rein upon his anger; and so much restraint in so tempestuous a man was little short of wonderful. "Hortensia," he said, "this is fool's talk. What
object could I seek to serve?" She drew back another step, contempt and loathing in her face. "This man," he continued, flinging a hand toward Jenkins, and checked upon the word. He swung round
upon the fellow. "Have you fooled me, knave?" he bawled. "Is it true what this man says of you—that ye're no parson at all?"
    Jenkins quailed and shriveled. Here was a move for which he was all unprepared, and knew not how to play to it. On the bridegroom's part it was excellently acted; yet it came too late to be
convincing.
    "You'll have the license in your pocket, no doubt, my lord," put in Mr. Caryll. "It will help to convince the lady of the honesty of your intentions. It will show her that ye were abused by this
thief for the sake of the guinea ye were to pay him."
    That was checkmate, and Lord Rotherby realized it. There remained him nothing but violence, and in violence he was exceedingly at home—being a member of the Hell Fire Club and having
served in the Bold Bucks under his Grace of Wharton.
    "You damned, infernal marplot! You blasted meddler!" he swore, and some other things besides, froth on his lips, the veins of his brow congested. "What affair was this of yours?"
    "I thought you desired me for a witness," Mr. Caryll reminded him.
    "I did, let me perish!" said Rotherby. "And I wish to the devil I had bit my tongue out first."
    "The loss to eloquence had been irreparable," sighed Mr. Caryll, his eyes upon a beam of the ceiling.
    Rotherby stared and choked. "Is there no sense in you, you gibbering parrot?" he inquired. "What are you—an actor or a fool?"
    "A gentleman, I hope," said Mr. Caryll urbanely. "What are you?"
    "I'll learn you," said his lordship, and plucked at his sword.
    "I see," said Mr. Caryll in the same quiet voice that thinly veiled his inward laughter—"a bully!"
    With more oaths, my lord heaved himself forward. Mr. Caryll was without weapons. He had left his sword above-stairs, not deeming that he would be needing it at a wedding. He never moved hand or
foot as Rotherby bore down upon him, but his greenish eyes grew keen and very watchful. He began to wonder had he indulged his amusement overlong, and imperceptibly he adjusted his balance for a
spring.
    Rotherby stretched out to lunge, murder in his inflamed eyes. "I'll silence you, you——"
    There was a swift rustle behind him. His hand—drawn back to thrust—was suddenly caught, and ere he realized it the