"The man who has wronged Mr. Parkinson's daughter presented himself to her under a false name. She may have done the same to him."
"I understand what you mean, sir," said Mark Inglefield, not giving Mr. Manners time to finish, "and I declare, upon my honor as a gentleman, that there lives not a woman in the world who can complain of wrong at my hands. Is that sufficiently comprehensive, sir?"
"So far as Mary Parkinson is concerned," replied Mr. Manners, "it covers the whole ground, although it does not clear up the mystery."
"What is it that remains to be cleared? Is not my word of honor as a gentleman of more weight than the false statements of a shallow, ignorant woman?"
"You are speaking with unnecessary heat," said Mr. Manners, calmly. "In a few hours, by a very simple process, the matter can be settled. To-morrow morning you will accompany me to Mr. Parkinson's home--I have the address--and there, face to face with him and his daughter, you will be able in a moment to convince them how you have been maligned."
"Surely, sir," remonstrated Mark Inglefield, to whom this proposal brought a feeling of consternation, "you do not really mean to drag both yourself and me personally into this disgraceful affair?"
"What can you find to object to in it?" asked Mr. Manners. "I have pledged myself to sift the matter to the bottom, and I am not the man to depart from my word. The course I propose is an honorable course, and the result must be your complete vindication. At the present moment you are under suspicion; you cannot wish to remain so. Of course, Inglefield, I cannot compel you to accompany me. If you refuse--"
Mr. Manners paused, but the uncompleted sentence was sufficiently comprehensive. Thus driven, there was no alternative before Mark Inglefield than to cry, with great warmth,
"I do not refuse."
"You will accompany me?"