“To be sure, little ’un,” quoth Mr. Lot, with a glum grin, “and you didn’t enjoy yourself at all, eh? Julia Perkaby’s a fine wench, Richard. What! Don’t know when a woman’s got a pair of deuced fine eyes in her head?” Mr. Lot laughed loudly and slapped Jeffray on the shoulder with a vigor that was not wholly inspired by cousinly regard. Peter Gladden was standing at the hall door with a lantern in his hand; the Hardacre coach-horses were pawing the gravel without. “Come, Sir Peter, I don’t think we are prime-beef here.” Richard was still gazing ruefully at Jilian, watching her enfold her auburn head in a light-blue wrapper. “I am very sorry,” he said, in a humble aside. Miss Hardacre made him a fine courtesy. “La, cousin, don’t apologize,” she said, “we have had a delicious evening. I am sure Miss Julia’s dancing was superb.” VI A sharp skirmish occurred in the great drawing-room that night after that stately chamber had been emptied of its guests. Richard, chafing under Sir Peter’s honest outburst of wrath and Miss Jilian’s ironical reproaches, charged the Lady Letitia with deliberately insulting these good people whom he had summoned to Rodenham in all the innocence of his heart. The Lady Letitia, throned on a brocaded fauteuil before the dying fire, regarded her nephew with amused contempt, and proceeded to convince him of the disinterested wisdom of her plot. “You are a young greenhorn, my dear Richard,” she said, playing with her great red fan, “and you may regard me, sir, as a fairy godmother sent by Heaven to draw you out of the toils. Come, perceive, sir, I have routed the Amalekites and thrown poison into that sweet spinster’s rouge-pot. I wager, nephew, that Miss Hardacre will be for hating you cordially in a few days if you will only follow my advice.” But Richard was in no mood to listen to this arch-diplomat’s ingenious proposals. Shorn of his natural passivity, he kindled commendably over the crisis, and paced the floor with all the authority of an admiral stalking his quarter-deck. “May I suggest to you, madam, that I will permit no further meddling in my affairs?” “Richard—!” “What poisonous insinuations you have been pouring into Miss Hardacre’s ears I cannot imagine. You have trifled with my honor, madam, disgraced my hospitality, and shamed me in my own house.” “Richard Jeffray!” “Permit me to add, madam, that I will not have my friends slighted and insulted in Rodenham.” “Heavens, Richard!” “This is my house, madam. If you do not approve of my tastes and habits you can mend your displeasure by departing.” The old lady sat and stared at her nephew, nodding her huge “head,” her little eyes twinkling under their bushy brows. She would not have believed that the lad had so much spirit in him. His eyes sparkled, his face had flushed, and he carried himself with an angry stateliness that was worthy of Mr. Garrick.