they did not recognize me through my veil. I had no particular anxiety to be seen on the road to London at eight o'clock at night, and alone.
"I can't help thinking, dear boy," Mr. Lucknow was saying in a low tone, "how deucedly uncharitable you are. Now you brand young Honeyworth with a mark of Cain, in sheer wilfulness. You have no evidence to substantiate what you say. It is cruel, positively it is, my dear boy. I am not a very straight-laced fellow, as you know, Potterby, but hang it all, if I care to hear this kind of thing."
"It is true, nevertheless," said Mr. Potterby, imperturbably. "No evidence is necessary. Eyes are evidence in this case."
"Well, we will drop the subject. You see how mistaken you were in the case of Arthur Ravener. You had branded him—everybody had, in fact. His name was on the lips of all fellows. He was shunned. What happened? He married; tongues ceased wagging, and now there is not a fellow in the crowd that maligned him, who would not be glad to apologize for his brutality."
