He was perfectly calm in outward bearing, but his quietness of manner did not deceive Fanny for a moment. She knew in the first glance of his eye that he had come for war, and she felt at once scornfully ready to meet it. What could Percy Joscelyn say that would matter to her? She threw back her head and met him with the weapon that always came to her most readily, that of mockery. “Why, Percy,” she said, “this is a very unexpected pleasure. It is not often you are good enough to come to see me alone. But I suppose you want to talk over such an interesting event as Aimée’s engagement.” “Not exactly,” replied Percy, blandly, though his glance became more venomous than ever. “I do not consider that Aimée’s engagement can take place without the consent of her parents and guardians; but I wish to congratulate you on your success in getting rid of an old lover who might tell awkward stories, by the simple expedient of stopping his mouth with an heiress.” There was a moment’s pause. The gauntlet had been flung down, and he stood with his hand on the back of a chair, waiting to see how she would take it up. As for Fanny, astonishment rather than lack of courage held her silent for the short space of time in which they regarded each other. Then she said, with more dignity than any one could have imagined her capable of displaying: “So you have come simply to insult me. That, at least, makes matters clear. I understand and can allow much for your disappointment with regard to Aimée; but I do not intend to listen to such insinuations as you have just uttered. Be good enough to leave my room.” She lifted her hand and pointed to the door, but Joscelyn did not stir. On the contrary, he held his position with an air of determination, as he held her glance by the steadiness of his own. “It will not be well,” he said, “for you to insist upon my leaving before I have finished what I have come to say. I know that Kyrle was your lover before you were married, and that you jilted him for a richer man. In order to deceive that man, you have represented him as having been the lover of Aimée. This is a pretense which might blind Mr. Meredith, but nobody else; and I hardly think it would blind _him_ very long if one took the trouble to tell him the truth. Now, I do not propose that Aimée shall be bargained away to save your secrets, so I plainly give you your choice: send this fellow away, as I have no doubt you have the power to do, or Mr. Meredith shall know the whole truth about him and you!” “My dear,” said Fanny Meredith afterward, in describing the scene to Aimée, “I was astonished at myself. You know I always was a coward, and I had no doubt that the horrid wretch did know everything, as he said, and would tell it to Tom. But, for the life of me, I _could not_ quail before him! I felt such contempt for him, and such a sense of outrage that he should dare to threaten me in that manner, that I suppose it was anger that made me as brave as a lion.”