My rude impatience met with a rebuke that it perhaps deserved. With a glance of the utmost scorn, Euphrosyne asked coldly, ‘What are the lives of all of you to me?’ ‘True, I forgot,’ said I, with a bitter politeness. ‘I beg your pardon. I did you all the service I could last night, and now--I and my friends may as well die as live! But, by God, I’ll pull this place to ruins, but I’ll find your secret.’ I was walking up and down now in a state of some excitement. My brain was fired with the thought of stealing a march on Constantine through the discovery of his own family secret. Suddenly Euphrosyne gave a little soft clap with her hands. It was over in a minute, and she sat blushing, confused, trying to look as if she had not moved at all. ‘What did you do that for?’ I asked, stopping in front of her. ‘Nothing,’ said Euphrosyne. ‘Oh, I don’t believe that,’ said I. She looked at me. ‘I didn’t mean to do it,’ she said. ‘But can’t you guess why?’ ‘There’s too much guessing to be done here,’ said I impatiently; and I started walking again. But presently I heard a voice say softly, and in a tone that seemed to address nobody in particular--me least of all: ‘We Neopalians like a man who can be angry, and I began to think you never would.’ ‘I am not the least angry,’ said I with great indignation. I hate being told that I am angry when I am merely showing firmness. Now at this protest of mine Euphrosyne saw fit to laugh--the most hearty laugh she had given since I had known her. The mirthfulness of it undermined my wrath. I stood still opposite her, biting the end of my moustache. ‘You may laugh,’ said I, ‘but I’m not angry; and I shall pull this house down, or dig it up, in cold blood, in perfectly cold blood.’ ‘You are angry,’ said Euphrosyne, ‘and you say you’re not. You are like my father. He would stamp his foot furiously like that, and say, “I am not angry, I am not angry, Phroso.”’ Phroso! I had forgotten that diminutive of my guest’s classical name. It rather pleased me, and I repeated gently after her, ‘Phroso, Phroso!’ and I’m afraid I eyed the little foot that had stamped so bravely. ‘He always called me Phroso. Oh, I wish he were alive! Then Constantine--’ ‘Since he isn’t,’ said I, sitting on the table by Phroso (I must write it, it’s a deal shorter),--by Phroso’s elbow--‘since he isn’t, I’ll look after Constantine. It would be a pity to spoil the house, wouldn’t it?’ ‘I’ve sworn,’ said Phroso. ‘Circumstances alter oaths,’ said I, bending till I was very near Phroso’s ear. ‘Ah,’ said Phroso reproachfully, ‘that’s what lovers say when they find another more beautiful than their old love.’ I shot away from Phroso’s ear with a sudden backward start. Her remark somehow came home to me with a very remarkable force. I got off the table, and stood opposite to her in an awkward and stiff attitude. ‘I am compelled to ask you, for the last time, if you will tell me the secret?’ said I, in the coldest of tones.