The moment she had said it, seeing the flame that it lit in her brother's eyes, Mrs. Durlacher wished it unsaid. For the instant he gazed at her, then his anger was spent. Knowing how wasted that blow was, he turned to the mantelpiece and laughed. It was the most bitter retaliation he could have made. She heard it echoing through her brain as the fallen man, dazed and helpless, just hears the seconds being meted out, yet cannot rise, can lift no voice to stop them. "What Miss Bishop is to me," he said quietly, "is neither here nor there--only to be classed with one of those impulsive conjectures of yours--just the same as when you said that she was a milliner. You don't quite know what you're speaking about, and that gives you confidence. You're a woman. But you'll have to forgive me if I correct you when you talk about this house as yours--it's not--it's mine. You've scarcely what constitutes a tenancy of it." "Haven't you to put down the sum of five thousand pounds before you can say that?" she asked, her voice steadied, her impulses all under the curb now. She must step lightly if she were to win after this. "Do you think that would be a very difficult matter?" he questioned in return. "Well, can you do it?" "Oh no," he smiled. "As a matter of fact, I never carry more than four or five pounds in loose cash about with me. Don't be a fool, Dolly. Do you want to irritate me into doing something that you know would put your nose out of joint for the rest of your natural life? You know well enough, that I could find the money to-morrow if I wanted to. You've irritated me quite enough already." "How?" "By coming down here." "Why should that irritate you?" "Because I guess pretty well your reasons. You were expecting a lady--so Mrs. Butterick amiably told me." He turned and looked at her fixedly. "You're as cute as ten, Dolly, but I'm hanged if you know how to play with me." "Mrs. Butterick told you that?" she said. "Yes--she spoke like a book. Like the book of Revelations. Now, when I'd expressly asked you if I should be alone when I came down, what the deuce did you want to come for?" "Don't you think you can speak a little more politely?" she requested. "That won't help the discussion from your side or mine," he replied quietly. "But rather than give you cause for interruption--I'll do so. Why did you come down here?" The mind of a woman works with amazing rapidity, but it is impossible to see the direction it will take. There are little insects known to our childish days as skip-jacks. Scratch them with the end of a piece of grass, and they reward you for your pains--they will jump--bound with one spasmodic leap and vanish. So is the working of a woman's mind. You can be almost certain of the jump--but of the direction--never.