“But Mr. Ralph Mainwaring must have some tenable ground for contesting his claim,” said the reporter, tentatively, hoping to get some of the inside facts of the case.

Young Mainwaring froze instantly.  “I have nothing whatever to say, sir, regarding the governor’s action in this matter; any information you desire on that point you will have to obtain from him.”

The next development in the Mainwaring case was a report to the effect that the whereabouts of Harold W. Mainwaring could not be ascertained, and it was generally supposed among his London associates that he had followed his brother to America by the next steamer.  As this report was supplemented by the further facts that he was a man of no principle, heavily involved in debt, and deeply incensed at Ralph Mainwaring’s success in securing for his son the American estate in which he himself had expected to share, public speculation was immediately aroused in a new direction, and “that Mainwaring affair” became the absorbing topic, not alone at the clubs and other places of masculine rendezvous, but at all social gatherings as well.

Regarding the principal actors in this drama, however, around whom public interest really centred, little could be definitely ascertained.  To many, who, on the following morning, read the details of the suicide at the Wellington, it was a matter of no small wonder that the name of Harold Scott Mainwaring was not once mentioned in connection with that of the woman shown by the preceding day’s testimony to have been so closely related to him.  Perhaps no one was more surprised at this omission than Merrick himself but if so, his only comment was made mentally.

“He’s got the cinch on them all around, and he’ll win, hands down!”

The inquest, held at an early hour, was merely a matter of form, the evidence of intentional suicide being conclusive, and the interment, a few hours later, was strictly private.  Excepting the clergyman who read the burial service, there were present only the two sons of the wretched woman.

It was their first meeting since learning of the strange relationship existing between them, and Walter LaGrange, as he entered the presence of the dead, cast a curious glance, half shrinking, half defiant, at the calm, stern face of Harold Mainwaring, who had preceded him.  His own face was haggard and drawn, and the hard, rigid lines deepened as his glance fell for an instant on the casket between them.  Then his eyes looked straight into those of Harold Mainwaring with an expression almost imploring.

“Tell me,” he demanded in low, hoarse tones, “is it true that I am - what she once said and what report is now saying — the son of Hugh Mainwaring?”

“It is true,” the other replied, gravely.

“Then curse them both!” he exclaimed, while his hands clinched involuntarily.  “What right had they to blight and ruin my life?  What right had they to live as they did, and let the stigma, the shame, the curse of it all fall on me?  A few months since I had the honor and respect of my classmates and associates; to-day, not one will recognize me, and for no fault of mine!”