Whereupon, unwilling and rather stern compliance on the man's part--the handsome face darkened with most unnecessary frowns. And in the garden, the short colloquy between them--"Of course, I see--you haven't forgiven me! Never mind! I am doing this for someone else--it's a duty." Then abruptly--"You still have three of my letters." Amusing again--his shock of surprise, his blundering denials! He always was the most unmethodical and unbusiness-like of mortals--poor Roger! She heard her own voice in reply. "Oh yes, you have. I don't make mistakes about such things. Do you remember the letter in which I told you about that affair of Theresa Weightman?" A stare--an astonished admission. Precisely! "Well, she's in great trouble. Her husband threatens absurdities. She has always confided in me--she trusts me, and I can't have that letter wandering about the world." "I certainly sent it back!" "No--you never sent it back. You have three of mine. And you know how careless you are--how you leave things about. I was always on tenterhooks. Look again, _please_! You must have some idea where they might be." Perplexity--annoyance! "When we sold the London house, all papers and documents were sent down here. We reserved a room--which was locked up." "_A la bonne heure!_ Of course--there they are." But all the same--great unwillingness to search. It was most unlikely he would be able to find anything--most unlikely there was anything to find. He was sure he had sent back everything. And then a look in the fine hazel eyes--like a horse putting back its ears. All of no avail--against the laughing persistence which insisted on the letters. "But I must have them--I really must! It is a horrid tragedy, and I told you everything--things I had no business to tell you at all." On which, at last, a grudging consent to look, followed by a marked determination to go back to the drawing-room.... But it was the second _tete-a-tete_ that was really adroit! After tea--just a touch on the arm--while the Duchess was showing the Nattiers to Mrs. Barnes, and Lelius was holding the lamp. "One moment more!--in the conservatory. I have a few things to add." And in that second little interview--about nothing, in truth--a mere piece of audacity--the lion's claws had been a good deal pared. He had been made to look at her, first and foremost; to realize that she was not afraid of him--not one bit!--and that he would have to treat her decently. Poor Roger! In a few years the girl he had married would be a plain and prickly little pedant--ill-bred besides--and he knew it. As to more recent adventures. If people meet in society, they must be civil; and if old friends meet at a dance, there is an institution known as "sitting out"; and "sitting out" is nothing if not conversational; and conversation--between old friends and cousins--is beguiling, and may be lengthy.