“In the absence of evidence to the contrary, I think we may safely assume one can’t,” said she. “However, here you are, beating about the bush again. I come to you as Johannah’s emissary. She desires me to ask you several questions.” “Yes?” said he, a trifle uncomfortably. “She would be glad to know,” his visitor declared, looking straight into his eyes, and smiling a little gravely, “why you have been so excessively nasty to her?” “Have I been nasty to her?” he asked, with an innocence that was palpably counterfeit. “Don’t you think you have?” She still looked gravely, smilingly, into his eyes. “I don’t see how.” He maintained his feint of innocence. “Don’t you think you’ve responded somewhat ungraciously to her overtures of friendship?” she suggested. “Do you think it was nice to answer her letters with those curt little formal notes of yours? Look. Johannah sat down to write to you. And she began her letter Dear Mr. Stretton. And then she simply couldn’t. So she tore up the sheet, and began another My Dear Cousin Will. And what did she receive in reply? A note beginning Dear Miss Silver. Do you think that was kind? Don’t you think it was the least bit mortifying? And why have you refused in such a stiff-necked way to go down to see her at Silver Towers?” “Oh,” he protested, “in all fairness, in all logic, your questions ought to be put the other way round.” “Bother logic! But put them any way you like,” said she. “What right had Miss Silver to expect me to multiply the complications of my life by rushing into an ecstatic friendship with her? And why, being very well as I am in town just now, why should I disarrange myself by a journey into the country?” “Why indeed?” she echoed. “I’m sure I can give no reason. Why should one ever do any one else a kindness? Your cousin has conceived a great desire to meet you.” “Oh, a great desire!” He tossed his head. “One knows these great desires. She’ll live it down. A man named Burrell has been stuffing her up.” “Stuffing her up?” She smiled enquiringly. “The expression is new to me.” “Greening her, filling her head with all sorts of nonsensical delusions, painting my portrait for her in all the colours of the rainbow. Oh, I know my Burrell. He’s tried to stuff me up, too, about her.” “Oh? Has he? What has he said?” she questioned eagerly. “The usual rubbishy things one does say, when one wants to stuff a fellow up.” “For instance?” “Oh, that she’s tremendously good-looking, with hair and eyes and things, and very charming.” “What a dear good person the man named Burrell must be,” she murmured. “He’s not a bad chap,” he conceded, “but you must remember that he’s her solicitor.” “And, remembering that, you weren’t to be stuffed?” she said. “If she was charming and good-looking, it was a reason the more for avoiding her,” said he. “Oh?” She looked perplexed. “There’s nothing on earth so tiresome as charming women. They’re all exactly alike,” asserted he.