Nor were Durant’s troubles over for that day. In the evening another tempest came upon him. He had finished his solitary dinner, and written his letter to Lady Curtis, which was considerably changed from what it was intended to be. He had meant to say that he was in great hopes of having succeeded in his attempt to convince the Bates’ that it was not for their interest to allow Arthur to marry their daughter; but after his interview with Nancy, he could not say this. On the contrary, he gave a description of her future daughter-in-law, which was very much more favourable to that young woman than anyone could have expected. “She has a great deal of character,” he wrote. “She is not vulgar by nature, nor devoid of intelligence. If things come to the worst, something may be made of her.” This was not very satisfactory to Lady Curtis, who would almost rather have heard that her son was about to marry a demon incarnate, who would disgust him sooner or later, and from whom even yet he might be driven. So that poor Durant had doubly lost his work. He was finishing this letter when his door was opened suddenly, and Arthur Curtis came in unannounced. He was quite pale, with eyes which gleamed red and angry, and an air of furious calm--passion at the white stage to which no utterance would suffice. He came in, closed the door behind him, and then coming forward, dashed his clenched hand upon the table. “Look here,” he said, “I’ll have none of your interference, Durant. Friend you may be, if you like, but dictator to me never--no, I cannot put up with it, and I won’t. What has come to you that you can steal into people’s houses and try to deceive a lot of silly women? That is not the sort of thing that used to suit you.” “I have deceived nobody,” said Durant, getting red in spite of himself. “It is you who have deceived them.” “Yes, that’s it, isn’t it?--the argument suits the conduct,” said Arthur, with a sneer. “‘It is not me, it is you,’--the very thing I should have expected to be said; but look here, Durant, if you come between her and me again, if you try to make mischief with her family, if you get me into further trouble, I’ll--by Jove, I’ll--” “What will you do?” said Durant, rising, restored to his self-possession, and looking the other steadily in the face. They stood within a few paces of each other, the one aggressive and furious, the other calm, but excited. They had never had a break before since childhood, and had stood by each other in all kinds of difficulties. This was in Durant’s mind, and made the crisis more bitter to him; but Arthur was too much excited to think of it, or of anything else but his grievance. Notwithstanding this, however, the calm look of the familiar face confronting him stilled the young man. He turned away after a moment, and took to angry pacing about the room.