“Mrs. Davis,” said my lord, not moving, and with an air of acid civility, “I am really constrained to impress upon you that it is possible to presume on one’s privileges as Lady Chesterfield’s friend and guest.” “Is it?” was the serene answer. “And I’m really constrained to impress upon you that it’s possible to presume upon one’s position as the husband of that guest’s hostess.” “Presume, madam, presume--in my own house!” She jumped up, and came at him with such a whisk of skirts that involuntarily he retreated a step before her. “You dare!” she said: “when the very first time we met you had the brazen impudence to kiss me. Presume, indeed--and in your own house! A nice house, this, to pretend to any airs of propriety.” “There are distinctions to be made, madam, which perhaps you can hardly be expected to appreciate.” “Between me and another? Why, deuce take you!” cried the lady. “Are you telling me I’m not respectable?” She quivered on the verge of an explosion. He was a little alarmed. It had been foolish of him to lay aside, just because his wife was not by, the part he was affecting to play. He had forgotten, in his peevishness, that it was as necessary to mislead the visitor as to his sentiments as it was her ladyship. Yet he could not command his temper all in a moment. “Are you telling me,” he said, “that my house is not?” Her eyes sparkled at him. “I can’t appreciate distinctions, you know,” she said, “or I might understand why my lady may do just what I do, and be respected for it, while I for my part have to suffer all manner of sauce and impudence. One of these days I shall be taking two of those precious grooms of yours and knocking their heads together.” He frowned, setting his lips. “I am sorry if you have reason to complain of the conduct of my household. I was not aware of this, and will take immediate measures for the punishment of any servant you may point out as having shown you discourtesy.” “O, all’s one for that!” cried Moll, with a toss. “I can look after myself. Only don’t talk about my presumption in treating you with the familiarity that you treat me, or be so sure of the holy propriety of your house in everything where I’m not concerned.” He looked at her with a gloomy perplexity, but did not answer. “Liberties!” cried Mrs. Moll, snapping her fingers. “But where the master sets the example, the mistress can’t be blamed for following him, I suppose.” “Do you allude to her ladyship?” he demanded. “Yes, I do,” she answered, with a saucy laugh. “To what ‘liberties’ do you refer--as applied to yourself, perhaps?” “Myself be damned!” cried the lady. “I talk of _her_ being closeted alone, in her private apartments, with gentlemen visitors.” His lordship started and stiffened, as suddenly rigid as a frog popped into boiling water. “What visitors?” he said, in a suffocated voice. Moll laughed again. “Wouldn’t you like to know, crosspatch?” He took a furious step forward, and checked himself.