"Soho!" said he.

"The parson is explained." Then he fell thoughtful, his tone lost its note of flippancy.

"This gentleman who sends his compliments, does he send his name ?" "He does not, sir; but I overheard it." "Confide in me," Mr.Caryll invited her.
"He is a great gentleman," she prepared him.
"No matter.

I love great gentlemen." "They call him Lord Rotherby." At that sudden and utterly unexpected mention of his half-brother's name--his unknown half-brother--Mr.Caryll came to his feet with an alacrity which a more shrewd observer would have set down to some cause other than mere respect for a viscount.

The hostess was shrewd, but not shrewd enough, and if Mr.Caryll's expression changed for an instant, it resumed its habitual half-scornful calm so swiftly that it would have needed eyes of an exceptional quickness to have read it.
"Enough!" he said.