"It is going on, as you call it, aunt; and is likely to go on—so long as I live." "Then I, for one, wish to have nothing to do with it," she said, sharply. "And this last proposal is really too audacious. What business have you with that girl’s room?—what right have you to go into it?" He was rather taken aback—for a moment. "Business?—oh, none of course. None whatever—that is to say—oh, yes, I have, though!—I have a perfect right to go into it. The room is not hers. It is mine. I have paid for it. When she comes back it will be hers; and where is the harm of her finding it a little prettier?—that is all." "I must say, Vin," she continued, in a very reserved fashion, "that the infatuation of a young man may excuse a good deal; but this is a little—a little too much. Do you consider it quite nice—quite becoming? A satin counterpane! I wonder what the girl would think herself—if she has any refinement of feeling—if she has any delicacy—" His face grew very pale. "’If she has any refinement of feeling—if she has any delicacy,’" he repeated. Then he rose. "It is useless to say anything further, aunt; there is an end this time." But she had risen too. He tried to pass her—and failed; nay, she went to the door, and stood with her back against it, and faced him. "No, you shall not go," she said. "Why should there be any dissension? You are my own dear boy; I would do anything for you—except in this one direction——" "Except in this one direction!" he repeated, scornfully. "Why cannot we remain friends," she said, with appealing eyes, "good and true friends—and agree to leave this one subject alone?"