"There is no possible mistake. You will see that for yourself when I tell you that Herr von Arnim is my nephew, and that I myself was at the wedding at Delford." Arnold bowed. His expression was now normal, and it suggested no more than the calm interest of an ordinary caller on an ordinary topic of conversation. "You are perfectly right," he said. "There is no possible mistake. I am very grateful to you for your explanation." He included Hildegarde in his curt salute, and turned towards the door. Frau von Arnim detained him with a decided and indignant gesture. "The matter cannot end there," she said. "You have suggested that Miss Ingestre was engaged to you at the time of her betrothal with my nephew. It is a suggestion intensely offensive to us all. It is now my turn to point out to you that you are making a mistake—or worse." Arnold coloured with anger. "I am not likely to make a mistake of such magnitude," he said. "Of your second insinuation I need take no notice." "In that case I must ask you to be more explicit. I—we have a right to an explanation." "Excuse me—I fail to see that any one has a right in a matter which concerns Miss Ingestre—Frau von Arnim, and myself alone." "The matter concerns my nephew and us all." Arnold smiled ironically. "I regret that I cannot sympathise with your point of view," he said. "In any case, I have no explanation to offer." There was a blank silence. It was the more marked because it followed on a sharp lightning-like exchange, kept within bounds of outward courtesy only by the education and upbringing of the conflicting personalities. Frau von Arnim, usually armed with a kindly wisdom which had sympathy for all sorts and conditions of men, was brought nearer to a display of uncontrolled anger than in all her life before. To her mind, Arnold had, unwittingly perhaps, cast a slur upon the credit of one who was a member of her family; and her family was Frau von Arnim’s fetish. He had done so, moreover, without offering proof or justification, and the latter offences deepened his guilt, though their omission would not have shielded him from her enmity. Arnold, on his side, saw a haughty, domineering woman who claimed the right to investigate a personal overwhelming calamity in which she had no share, and with which he could as yet only grapple in blind, half-incredulous pain. He disliked her instinctively, but also because he could not understand the motives and principles which governed her conduct towards himself. He continued speaking after a moment, and his irritation was so intense that it helped him to overcome, almost forget, his own misery.