“Perhaps; I don’t know. The only time I’ve ever really been angry—I don’t count just flyings out and in again, you know; they’re like the pebbles on the beach both for quantity and importance—but really angry, I didn’t hit at all; I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have done the least bit of good, only made things worse.” The lightness had dropped from her voice; she was obviously speaking of something which touched her nearly still, and his tone changed in sympathy. “When was that?” “It was when John was driven away from home.” “Oh, yes,” he murmured. “It has meant more to Lady Penterton and to Celia than they will ever acknowledge—and never to speak to him again. Oh, it was odious! You would hardly remember it,” she went on more quietly, “it must be nearly ten years ago.” “I do,” he said. “It was soon after I came. John and I were friends, of a sort, you know, and, as a matter of fact, it was John who originally recommended me to Sir Roger.” “Was it? You have never told me that.” “Well, there was no reason why I should; there wasn’t much in it. I mean, it was my references rather than his recommendation which got me the place. I suppose I didn’t mention it because he’s the forbidden subject. D’ you know, I shouldn’t wonder if that isn’t at the bottom of Sir Roger’s treatment of me. I never thought of it before.” “It is possible,” she agreed thoughtfully; “but I don’t know, he’s like that to everybody. Only yesterday I heard him using dreadful language to old Fairlie; called him a Mid-Victorian fossil with epithets thrown in I won’t repeat.” “I wonder the old man stands it,” remarked Philip. “He wouldn’t, not for a day, if it was a case of Sir Roger alone, but he’ll live and die with Lady Penterton and Celia.” “Yes, he’s a faithful old card.” “He’s a dear,” exclaimed Evelyn warmly, “only he does require living up to. It’s too comic the way he shows his disapproval when Celia and I are being frivolous; I sometimes can’t help shocking him just for the fun of it, and he ought to know us by this time.” “It seems to me,” remarked Philip casually, “that we are straying from the subject. I don’t object to abusing Sir Roger, as I think you know; he’s a poisonous——” “Now, then!” “Well, as I was saying,” he continued imperturbably, “I don’t object to discussing you, angry or otherwise, but I do draw the line at discussing Fairlie.” “A very respectable subject.” “Yes, that’s just it; respectability is the curse of conversation.” “You’re now in a pretty dilemma,” she said, rising; “you don’t object to discussing me, but you do object to discussing a respectable subject: thank you, sir.” She made him a mock bow, and started merrily for the house. “No, don’t go!” he pleaded. “Please don’t; I’ll be very good.” “Even that prospect cannot detain me,” she answered over her shoulder; “I shall be late for dinner as it is.”