Mark held his breath as he listened; what was Caffyn going to say next? Vincent's face altered suddenly.
'Then Mabel—Miss Langton, is going to be married?' he asked in a curiously quiet tone.
'Rather,' said Caffyn; 'brilliant match in its way, I understand. Not much money on his side, but one of the coming literary fellows, and all that kind of thing, you know; just the man for that sort of girl. Didn't you know about it?'
'No,' said Holroyd uneasily; he was standing with his elbow on the mantelpiece, with his face turned from the other two; 'I didn't know—what is his name?'
'Upon my soul I forget—heard it somewhere.—Ashburn, you don't happen to know it, do you?'
'I!' cried Mark, shrinking; 'no, I—I haven't heard.'
'Well,' continued Caffyn, 'it isn't of much consequence, is it? I shall hit upon it soon, I dare say. They say she's deucedly fond of him, though. Can't fancy disdainful Miss Mabel condescending to be deucedly fond of any one—but so they tell me. And I say, Holroyd, to come back to the point, is there any reason why you should stay in town?'
'None,' said Holroyd, with pain ringing in his voice, 'none in the world why I should stay anywhere now.'
'Well, won't you come with me? I start the first thing to-morrow—it will do you good.'
'It's kind of you to ask,' said Vincent, 'but I can't desert Ashburn in that way after he took the trouble to come down and meet me; we've not seen one another for so long,—have we, Mark?'