For a brief hour Mabel managed to delude herself into the belief that her infamous suspicions of her father were groundless, and the future was rosy; but feminine instinct was stronger than reason. She suspected that his estate near Ripley and the thousand a year, were only items in an elaborate fraud of which the unsuspecting Bishop and herself were to be the victims.

Any doubts she might have had about his meeting the Bishop at the dramatist's house were set at rest by an impetuous telegram from Lady Hester, which arrived as she was dressing for dinner.

"Bishop just home. Have heard the news. Said it would come all right. Come down with your father to-morrow.--HESTER."

To-morrow--as soon as that? It was like him to give her no warning of his movements. She could not demand his refusal of the Bishop's invitation unless she gave reasons; and when it came to speaking out, her accusations seemed too preposterous and terrible. It would mean a heart-rending scene with one inevitable end--flight from her father's roof.

They now dined frequently at the houses of her father's friends, or at some West End hotel, where he generally managed to meet people he knew; for the culinary arrangements at the flat were very variable, and quite inadequate to satisfy Mr. Bannister's fastidious tastes, and he shunned _tête-à-têtes_ with his daughter. He ate little at home, and Mabel put up uncomplainingly with whatever she could get when her father's engagements made it impossible for her to accompany him.

This evening he had announced, on passing her door, that it was to be "dinner at the Berkeley," and Lady Charley's afterwards--Lady Charley being a well-known and rather rapid person at whose house a mixed gathering assembled nearly every evening for play, and where stakes ran high. Her father's luck at cards was proverbial; it had a terrible significance now; and she shuddered at the thought of accompanying him. Yet it had to be faced. It would give her one more opportunity of watching him. Voss certainly would not be there; and, if he won--well, how was she to know the means employed, when others, more experienced, gamblers by instinct and hard-head men of the world, were taken in.

She looked five years older as she stood in the little sitting room waiting for him, a motionless figure in shadowy black draperies, against which her white shoulders and arms and colorless face gleamed like ivory in an ebon setting. The red-shaded light of the electric lamp, an exquisite bronze-figure holding the light aloft, sent a soft and mysterious glow over everything, and intensified the pallor of the drawn, anxious face. Her eyes glowed large and luminous with a flickering, uncertain, dangerous light in them. She moved mechanically towards a little table containing a collection of Japanese curios--tiny opium bottles of green jade, pink coral, and amber, and some wonderful little ivories and bronzes, and her nervous white fingers played over these treasures with an indefinite fluttering movement which told of mental pre-occupation. Then her eyes traveled round the room, the contents of which she seemed to be really seeing for the first time. Everything about her told of wealth, of refinement; and there was that undeniable restfulness about the place which at once satisfied the mind and the eye. She looked round wonderingly and critically; there was no jarring or false note anywhere. A beautiful landscape by Corot set the key for the whole room; its silver-grey tones intensified by the soft red of the heavy silk with which the walls were covered, the rosy glow of which also emphasized the delicacy of some flower studies by Fantin Latour--queer pictures for a man's room. There were quaint, antique silver vessels filled with flowers on every table. He loved flowers. Remembering this gentle trait, she again set the balance in his favor; for by some odd method of reasoning women are always willing to believe the best of a man who is fond of children, dogs, and flowers; and they always associate crime with reserve, ferocity, and ugliness.

Her reverie was broken by the sharp tinkle from the little Empire clock upon the mantel-shelf. A thin, shuddering sigh came brokenly from her lips, which again grew hard in expression, and the dangerous gleam leaped back into her eyes as she heard Voss speaking to her father. She drew on her long white gloves; tugging at them in a sharp, impatient manner quite new to her, like a woman of action, not the lackadaisical, pleasure-loving, feminine, flower-like thing she had always been. She had dressed with unusual rapidity, and her whole being was alert, ready for action. The wife and woman in her were awakened. The lowest depths were stirred. Her whole life hung in the balance.

If her father could wear a mask and make his moves stealthily in the dark, so could she. She was powerless to control anything, but at least she could watch the current and peer into the eddies, and decide whether she was to go helplessly on the bosom of a raging torrent or strike boldly for the shore.

"I am a wife--a wife!" she murmured inwardly. "I must be forbearing. I must risk nothing, and be patient for Jack's sake. I have been rash; I must be cautious, and cunning. If I make a mistake I lose all and gain nothing. But I must know, I must know."

Voss followed her father into the sitting room, carrying his evening coat and hat. Bannister looked his best in evening dress, so _distingué_, so slender, so restrained in movement. There was something foreign--or perhaps better expressed in the word "cosmopolitan"--in his bearing. The sharp pointed crimped beard, the dark eyes, the graceful black hair with the grey tuft over the forehead, and the white effeminate hands suggested the foreign diplomat, or Italian or Russian aristocrat, rather than a trim, well-groomed Englishnian. He was humming lightly to himself, and gave no greeting to Mabel, although his eye swept over her in a swift, comprehensive glance of approval. He acted as though no cloud existed between them, and no change had taken place in his light-hearted daughter. He addressed all his remarks to Voss, however, and with a final "Come along, child," led the way down stairs to the cab.

They drove in silence to Piccadilly. The hotel porter smilingly assisted her to alight. The head waiter received them genially, and ushered them to the table which was always reserved for Mr. Bannister till after a certain hour.

"No, no, not there." He waved his disapproval. "Not to-night. I am expecting a guest. The other table, if you please."

"Who is the guest, father?" she managed to ask.

"All in good time, little girl--all in good time. I invited no one; but I have a suspicion that a gentleman who knows where to find us at this hour will turn up by accident and join us."

"You don't mean Mr. Blunt? We can't be seen with him here. He is so dreadful."

"Blunt--good heavens, no!"

She was not left long in uncertainty. Before the soup was removed her father's eyes glanced quickly towards the door, and he waved genially to some one who immediately made his way across to their table. Her back was turned towards the newcomer, and she dreaded to look round. She feared everybody now, and trembled at the sight of a friend.

"Mabel, my child, a friend of yours," murmured Bannister, with a smile as he rose. Mabel looked up, and, to her amazement, saw Jack bending down with outstretched hand and beaming face.

"Jack?" she gasped, looking very frightened.

"I got your telegram, Mr. Bannister," explained Jack, wringing his future father-in-law's hand genially. "It was very kind of you. I also had a wire from Lady Hester," this with a meaning look at Mabel, who dropped her eyes, and went paler than ever.

Jack joined them for the meal, and he tried to cover his disappointment at Mabel's strange, cold timidity by an excess of amiability and boisterousness, and she could not help comparing his rough, British gaiety with her father's suave self-possession. Bannister talked of everything but the subject which was upper-most in the minds of all; but as the meal progressed Jack broached the subject of the recent meeting with his father. Bannister at once enlarged upon the Bishop's charming personality, and declared that he was looking forward to going to Ripley with the greatest zest. Mabel was coming too.

Jack gave a swift glance across; and she explained that Lady Hester had invited her by telegram.

"I wish I could come too," he declared sadly. "But I've unfortunately got a brewery case coming on that will keep me busy for a week. If I can get away for the week-end I shall certainly run down."

Mabel was eating nothing, and her husband, who was by no means blind, saw that there was a change in her. At the mention of her father's visit to the Palace she gave him a frightened look; a strange expression of bewilderment swam in her eyes. Remembering his extraordinary interview with her in the Temple, he knew that something was wrong, but was quite unable to imagine the source of the trouble. Bannister kept the conversation running on the Palace and Ripley, and made many inquiries concerning the surrounding country and the little property known as Dingle Hall. Jack knew the old place well, and described it. When Bannister casually remarked that he was coming down to purchase the place if it came up to his expectations, Jack stared in obvious surprise.

"Ah, you think an idler, a town idler like me, has no need of a place like that. I'm a town bird, I admit. But I have accepted so much hospitality from my friends that the time is coming when I must return it, or they will grow tired and forget me. You two young people won't be able to afford an estate in the country yet awhile--so I understand from your father, Jack--but when I'm under the ground Dingle Hall may come in useful to you."

"You speak as though everything, even to details, had been settled between you and father, Mr. Bannister."

"Well, practically so, my boy. You see, it was a question of settlements; and when I told the Bishop that I was prepared to make Mabel an allowance of a large slice of my income, he withdrew all opposition at once. I can't spare her more than a thousand a year, Jack; but she's very dear to me. It will mean the curtailment of a good many unnecessary extravagances, a little less play, and a little more sport in the fresh air of the country. By the bye, who's going to win the Hunt Cup?"

"I never bet," replied Jack tamely, rather staggered, and subdued by Bannister's easy way of talking of money and country estates.

"Racing isn't much in my line, either," observed Bannister. "But I always have a hundred on the Hunt Cup. It gives one an interest in the running. Let me see, who won last year? Ah, I remember, I went down on the Duke of Redmond's motor. There's a fellow for you, one who ought to be worth a gold mine to a lawyer. Always in litigation. You know him?"

Jack humbly disclaimed any knowledge of so exalted a person, but thought his father knew the duke. Mabel listened in increasing wonderment and confusion. How impossible it seemed that a man moving in her father's set could be the scamp adventurer that she had imagined from the overheard conversations with Voss. Once more she choked down her wild doubts, and tried to smile and be natural, and the color returned to her cheeks.

Jack's eyes had been greedily devouring her. She was in a charming gown that he had not seen before, and her hair was dressed in a manner new to him. She seemed less girlish, but exquisite.

"My wife--my wife!" he was saying to himself whenever there was a pause; and her mysterious hysterical outburst of the early afternoon receded further and further into the back ground. Bannister's announcement that he was going to allow Mabel an income much larger than his own, a sum that would make marriage pleasant and easy, moved the young man to almost affectionate geniality.

What a handsome pair they were, and what a bore he felt beside the polished cosmopolitan! How ignorant he was on even such trivial matters as the delicacies of the table. Bannister made a splendid host, and had selected strange, fascinating dishes and rare vintages for Jack's benefit. Mabel was sufficiently wide awake to know that her father did not take so much trouble over everybody, but that he could take a great deal of pains in this fashion when he had an object in view. It was reasonable enough that a man should desire the esteem of his son-in-law; yet, to the suspicious, watchful girl, he seemed to be overdoing it; and Jack was surrendering to his blandishments with almost boyish simplicity, and drinking an unusual quantity of champagne.

The favor was all on Bannister's side; yet the arch-rascal managed to convey to Jack the idea that the penniless barrister was conferring an honor in seeking Mabel for a bride. Once in discussing love and marriage Jack was so moved by his host's broad-minded views that he was on the point of dropping a gentle hint, and there was one reckless moment when he almost blurted out the truth--that they were married. But a look of terror in Mabel's eyes warned him to desist. To him there seemed to be no time like the present for revealing the inevitable secret; such a good opportunity might not come again; and Mr. Bannister would be an invaluable ally against Aunt Caroline; but his solemn pledge to Mabel that he would not divulge anything until they had both agreed upon the moment of revelation kept his tongue quiet.

Bannister appeared to see nothing of the looks that passed between the young people. He pretended to be examining the ceiling and caressing his beard when Mabel was darting her warning glances across. He was puzzled. There was something between these two--some secret understanding. He rather dreaded that Mabel might have injudiciously told the story of the Blunt incident. Yet, if so, it must have had very little effect on Jack.

He tried to draw the two together in conversation, and so discover the lie of the land; but Mabel had scarce word for her husband, and Bannister fell back upon trivial conversation again. He laughingly told them some anecdotes about well known people, especially a story concerning a rather flighty lady who was dining in a far corner of the room with a gentleman who certainly was not her husband. His remarks were chiefly directed to Jack; but once or twice the young husband's eyes twinkled as Bannister hinted at a certain suspicion that the lady had been out of town when she was supposed to be in London. In an unguarded moment--and being well primed with his father-in-law's champagne--Jack gave a sly look at his wife, and dropped certain references that would have been in bad taste uttered in the presence of an unmarried girl. Mabel looked down at her plate, blushing deeply, and Bannister was staggered. The understanding between the lovers was amazingly intimate, and there was a subtle change in his child. She was no longer a girl. What was it? What was behind the veil of that new modesty?

All at once the truth flashed upon him. He almost cried his thought aloud.

"Egad--they're married!"

He breathed heavily with the astonishment of it; but the next instant was smoothing his beard and surveying the ceiling decorations absently, while Jack talked foolishly of the delight of honeymoons--obviously for Mabel's edification. She went hot and cold at his reckless allusions, and at last found her voice to change the conversation.

It was too late. Bannister understood now the meaning of all the things that had puzzled him, of the sudden mental change in his child--the leap from girlhood to womanhood. Yes, it must be that. They were married. It was obvious.

When he recovered from his surprise, he laughed in soft triumph; and, as Jack gazed inquiringly, the elder man pointed across the room to a queer head-dress, which, he pretended, had evoked his mirth.