“You may,” he said roughly. “I wonder you have not more sense! If you had sent me a wire that you were coming--if you had even had yourself ushered in under your lawful name; but to come masquerading here as Miss West is--is too much, and I tell you plainly, Madeline, that I won’t have it. What must those fellows have thought of you to-night? Fitzherbert will blazon it all over London. Have you no regard for your reputation--your good name?” “There, there, Laurence, my dear,” raising her hands with a gesture of graceful deprecation, “that is lecturing enough--that will do!” “But it won’t do,” he repeated angrily. “I really believe that you are beginning to think of me as a miserable, weak-minded idiot, who will stand anything. There’s not another man in England would have stood as much as I have done, and, by George! I’ve had enough of it,” with a wave of his hand in his turn. “This visit of yours is the last straw. If you have no regard for Miss West’s reputation, be good enough to think of _mine_. I do not choose to have gaily-dressed young women coming flaunting to my humble chambers at any hour of the day. I’ve been hitherto considered rather a steady, respectable sort of fellow; I wonder what people will think of me now? Your visit will be all over the Inns to-morrow, and half my circuit will be clamouring to know ‘who my friend was?’” “Nonsense, Laurence! What an old-fashioned frump you are! Girls do all sorts of things nowadays, and no one minds. It is the fashion to be emancipated. Why, the two De Minxskys go and dine with men, and do a theatre afterwards! Chaperons are utterly exploded! And look at girls over in America.” “We are not in America, but London, where people ask for explanations.” “Well, you can easily explain _me_ away! You must be a very bad lawyer if you are not equal to such a trifling occasion as this! Oh, my dear Laurence,” beginning to laugh at the mere recollection, “I wish you could have seen your own face when I walked in--a study in sepia, a nocturne in black. Come, now, you can tell your anxious friends that I’m a client, and they will be _so_ envious; or that I’m your step-sister, a sister-in-law, or any little fib you fancy. And as you so seldom have the pleasure of my society, make much of me”--drawing forward a chair, and seating herself--“and tell that old woman of yours to bring me a cup of coffee.” There was nothing like taking high ground. “Yes, presently; but before that there is something that I wish to say to you,” also taking a seat. “We won’t have any more of this shilly-shallying, Madeline. You will have to make your choice _now_--to be either Miss West or Mrs. Wynne, permanently and publicly.” A pause, during which a cinder fell out of the grate, and the clock ticked sixty seconds. Then Madeline, who would not have believed, she told herself, that Laurence could be so shockingly bearish, plucked up spirit and said--