on the left-hand side of the corridor and announced "Mr. Hatteras."
Mr. Wetherell was seated in a low chair opposite the fire, and from the fact that his right foot was resting on a sort of small trestle I argued that he was suffering from an attack of his old enemy the gout.
"Be good enough to take a chair, Mr. Hatteras," he said, when the door had been closed. "I must own I am quite at a loss to understand what you can have to tell me of so much importance as to bring you to my house at this time of night."
"I think I shall be able to satisfy you on that score, Mr. Wetherell," I replied, taking the Evening Mercury from my pocket and smoothing it out. "In the first place will you be good enough to tell me if there is any truth in the inference contained in that paragraph?"
I handed the paper to him and pointed to the lines in question. Having put up his glasses he examined it carefully.
"I am sorry they should have made it public so soon, I must admit," he said. "But I don't deny that there is a considerable amount of truth in what that paragraph reports."
"You mean to say by that that you intend to try and marry Phyllis—Miss Wetherell—to the Marquis of Beckenham?"
"The young man has paid her a very considerable amount of attention ever since he arrived in the colony, and only last week he did me the honour of confiding his views to me. You see I am candid with you."
"I thank you for it. I too will be candid with you. Mr. Wetherell you may set your mind at rest at once, this marriage will never take place!"
