‘You care a good deal more than you’ll confess. I wouldn’t be up to women’s tricks, if I were you.’ She revolted. ‘After all, I suppose I _am_ a woman?’ ‘Well, I suppose so.’ Crewe grinned good-naturedly. ‘But that isn’t in the terms of our partnership, you remember. You can be a reasonable fellow enough, when you like. Just tell me the truth. What do you know about Nancy Lord?’ Beatrice assumed an air of mystery. ‘I’ll tell you that, if you tell me what it is you want of her. Is it her money?’ ‘Her money be damned!’ ‘It’s herself, then.’ ‘And what if it is? What have _you_ to say to it?’ Her eyes fell, and she muttered ‘Nothing.’ ‘Just bear that in mind, then. And now that I’ve answered your question, answer mine. What have you heard about her? Or what have you found out?’ She raised her eyes again and again, but in a mocking voice said, ‘Nothing.’ ‘You’re telling me a lie.’ ‘You’re a brute to say so!’ They exchanged fierce glances, but could not meet each other’s eyes steadily. Crewe, mastering his irritation, said with a careless laugh: ‘All right, I believe you. Didn’t mean to offend you, old chap.’ ‘I won’t be called that!’ She was trembling with stormy emotions. ‘You shall treat me decently.’ ‘Very well. Old girl, then.’ ‘I’m a good deal younger than you are. And I’m a good deal better than you, in every way. I’m a lady, at all events, and you can’t pretend to be a gentleman. You’re a rough, common fellow--’ ‘Holloa! Holloa! Draw it mild.’ He was startled, and in some degree abashed; his eyes, travelling to the door, indicated a fear that this singular business-colloquy might be overheard. But Beatrice went on, without subduing her voice, and, having delivered herself of much plain language, walked from the room, leaving the door open behind her. As a rule, she returned from her day’s occupations to dinner, in De Crespigny Park, at seven o’clock. To-day her arrival at home was considerably later. About three o’clock she made a call at the boarding-house where Mrs. Damerel lived, but was disappointed in her wish to see that lady, who would not be in before the hour of dining. She called again at seven, and Mrs. Damerel received her very graciously. It was the first time they had met. Beatrice, in no mood for polite grimaces, at once disclosed the object of her visit; she wanted to talk about Fanny; did Mrs. Damerel know anything of a proposed journey to Brussels? The lady professed utter ignorance of any such intention on Fanny’s part. She had not seen Fanny for at least a fortnight. ‘How can that be? She told me she dined here last Sunday.’ ‘That’s very strange,’ answered Mrs. Damerel, with suave concern. ‘She certainly did not dine here.’ ‘And the Sunday before?’ ‘Your sister has dined here only once, Miss. French, and that was three months ago.’ ‘Then I don’t understand it. Haven’t you been taking her to theatres, and parties, and that kind of thing?’