“You admit that your social position would be smashed up?” “All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put it together again,” she said. “I’m glad to find at least that you acknowledge my power,” said he. “You have it in your power to tell people that I was once inconceivably simple enough to believe that you were an honourable man, that I once had the inconceivable bad taste to be fond of you. What woman’s character could survive that revelation?” “And I could add—couldn’t I?—that you once had the inconceivable weakness to become my mistress?” “Oh, you could add no end of details,” she admitted. “Well, then?” he questioned. “Well, then?” questioned she. “It comes to this, that if you don’t want your social position, your reputation, to be utterly smashed up, you must make terms with me.” “It’s a little unfortunate, from that way of looking at it,” she pointed out, “that I shouldn’t happen to care a rush about my social position—as you call it.” “I think I’ll have a good long talk with the parson,” he said. “Do by all means,” said she. “You’d better be careful. I may take you at your word,” he threatened. “I wish you would. Take me at my word—-and go,” she urged. “You mean to say you seriously don’t care?” “Not a rush, not a button,” she assured him. “Oh, come! You’ll never try to brazen the thing out,” he exclaimed. “I wish you’d go and have your long talk with the parson,” she said impatiently. “It would be so easy for you to give me a little help,” he pleaded. “It would be so easy for you to ’smash up’ my reputation with the parson,” she rejoined. “You never used to be close-fisted. It’s incomprehensible that you should refuse me a little help. Look. I’m willing to be more than fair. Give me a hundred pounds, a bare little hundred pounds, and I’ll send you a lovely picture.” “Thank you, I don’t want a picture.” “You won’t give me a hundred pounds—a beggarly hundred pounds?” He looked incredulous. “I won’t give you a farthing.” “Well, then, by God, you jade,” he cried, springing to his feet, his face crimson, “by God, I’ll make you. I swear I’ll ruin you. Look out!” “Are you really going at last?” she asked brightly. “No, I’m not going till it suits my pleasure. You’ve got a sort of bastard cousin staying here with you, I’m told,” he answered. “I would advise you to moderate your tone or your language,” said she. “If my sort of bastard cousin should by any chance happen to hear you referring to him in those terms, he would not be pleased.” “I want to see him,” said he. “I would advise you not to see him,” she returned. “I want to see him,” he insisted. “If you really wish to see him, I’ll send for him,” she consented. “But it’s only right to warn you that he’s not at all a patient sort of man. If I send for him, he will quite certainly make things disagreeable for you.” “I’m not afraid of him. You know well enough that I’m not a coward.”