"You now see how matters are," he concluded, at the end of his epitome, during his delivery of which the lady had gradually grown more and more portentous of countenance.

"Now,--what do you say ?" Mrs.Ralston spoke sharply and decisively.
"Precisely what I have felt inclined to say more than once of late!" she answered.

"I'm beginning to suspect that the man who calls himself Sir Gilbert Carstairs is not Sir Gilbert Carstairs at all! He's an impostor!" In spite of my subordinate position as a privileged but inferior member of the conference, I could not help letting out a hasty exclamation of astonishment at that.

I was thoroughly and genuinely astounded--such a notion as that had never once occurred to me.

An impostor!--not the real man?
The idea was amazing--and Mr.Portlethorpe found it amazing, too, and he seconded my exclamation with another, and emphasized it with an incredulous laugh.
"My dear madam!" he said deprecatingly.