"Negotiations!" he said, with a touch of scorn. "Well, perhaps you can tell me what those negotiations were? How long did Mr. Bethune undertake to remain out of this country?" "Three years, Vin," said she, timidly regarding him. "Three years?" he repeated, in an absent way. "But there is no reason," she added quickly, "why he should not return at any moment if he wishes: so I understand: of course, I did not make the arrangement—but I believe that is so." "Return at any moment?" he said, slowly. "Do you mean to tell me that you put £5,000 into that old man’s hands, on condition he should leave the country for three years, and that all the same you left him free to return at any moment?" "Of course he would forfeit the money," said she, rather nervously. "But how could he forfeit the money if he already has it? He has got the money: you showed me the receipt. Come, aunt," said he, in quite a different tone, "Let us be a little more honest and above-board. Shall I tell you how I read the whole situation? You can contradict me if I am wrong. But that receipt you showed me: wasn’t it produced for merely theatrical purposes? Wasn’t it meant to crush and overwhelm me as a piece of evidence? The money wasn’t handed over like that, was it? Supposing I were to conjecture that somebody representing you or representing my father has still got control over that money; and that it is to be paid in instalments as it is earned—by absence? Well isn’t that so?" He fixed his eyes on her; she hesitated—and was a little confused. "I tell you, Vin," she said, "I had personally nothing to do with making the arrangement; all that was left in George Morris’s hands; and of course he would take whatever precautions he thought necessary. And why should you talk about theatrical purposes? I really did think that when I could show you Mr. Bethune was ready to take money from strangers to go away from England you would change your opinion of him. But apparently, in your eyes, he can do no wrong. He is not to be judged by ordinary rules and standards. Everything is to be twisted about on his behalf, and forgiven, or even admired. Nobody else is allowed such latitude of construction; and everything is granted to him—because he is George Bethune. But I don’t think it is quite fair: or that you should take sides against your own family." This was an adroit stroke, following upon a very clever attempt to extricate herself from an embarrassing position; but his thoughts were otherwise occupied.