Caranby did not seem surprised, but smoked imperturbably.  “I don’t quite understand.”

The young man related how Mrs. Octagon had inquired if the Earl was back from the Continent, and her subsequent remark.  “Of course I may be unduly suspicious,” said he.  “But it suggested—­”

“Quite so,” interrupted the old gentleman gravely.  “You are quick at putting two and two together.  Isabella Octagon hates me so much that she would gladly see me on the scaffold.  I am not astonished that she suspects me.”

“But what motive can she impute—­”

Caranby laid aside the long coil he was holding and laughed quietly to himself.  “Oh, she’ll find a motive if it suits her.  But what I cannot understand is, why she should accuse me now.  She has had ample opportunity during the past twenty years, since the death of Miss Saul, for instance.”

“She did not exactly accuse you.”

“No, a woman like that would not.  And then of course, her sister dying only last night affords her the opportunity of getting me into trouble.  But I am afraid Mrs. Octagon will be disappointed of her revenge, long though she has waited.”

“Revenge! remember, sir, she is the mother of Juliet.”

“I sincerely hope Juliet does not take after her, then,” said Lord Caranby, tartly.  “To be perfectly plain with you, Cuthbert, I could never understand why Mrs. Octagon sanctioned your engagement with her daughter, considering you are my nephew.”

“I don’t understand,” said Mallow, staring and uneasily.

Caranby did not answer immediately.  He rose and walked painfully up and down the room leaning heavily on his cane.  Mallow offered his arm but was impatiently waved aside.  When the old man sat down again he turned a serious face to his nephew.  “Do you love this girl?”

“With all my heart and soul.”

“And she loves you?”

“Of course.  We were made for one another.”

“But Mrs. Octagon—­”

“I don’t like Mrs. Octagon—­I never did,” said Mallow, impetuously, “but I don’t care two straws for her opposition.  I shall marry Juliet in spite of this revenge she seems to be practising on you.  Though why she should hope to vex you by meddling with my marriage, I cannot understand.”

“I can put the matter in a nutshell,” said Caranby, and quoted Congreve—­

        “’Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned
          Nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned.’”

“Oh,” said Mallow, dropping his cigarette, and a whole story was revealed to him in the quotation.

“A gentleman doesn’t talk of these things,” said Caranby abruptly, “and for years I have held my tongue.  Still, as Mrs. Octagon does not hesitate to strike at me through you, and as your happiness is at stake, and the happiness of the girl you love, I shall tell you—­so far as I can guess—­ why the woman behaves in this way.”