Her acquaintance with Palliser had lasted through a number of years. They argued most matters from the same basis of reasoning. They were at times almost candid with each other. It may be acknowledged, however, that of the two Lady Mallowe was the more inclined to verge on self-revelation. This was of course because she was the less clever and had more temper. Her temper, she had, now and then, owned bitterly to herself, had played her tricks. Captain Palliser's temper never did this. It was Lady Mallowe's temper which spoke now, but she did not in the least mind his knowing that Joan was exasperating her beyond endurance. He knew the whole situation well enough to be aware of it without speech on her part. He had watched similar situations several times before. “Her manner toward him is, to resort to New York colloquialisms, `the limit,'” Palliser said quietly. “Is it your idea that his less good spirits have been due to Lady Joan's ingenuities? They are ingenious, you know.” “They are devilish,” exclaimed her mother. “She treads him in the mire and sails about professing to be conducting herself flawlessly. She is too clever for me,” she added with bitterness. Palliser laughed softly. “But very often you have been too clever for her,” he suggested. “For my part, I don't quite see how you got her here.” Lady Mallowe became not almost, but entirely, candid. “Upon the whole, I don't quite know myself. I believe she really came for some mysterious reason of her own.” “That is rather my impression,” said Palliser. “She has got something up her sleeve, and so has he.” “He!” Lady Mallowe quite ejaculated the word. “She always has. That's her abominable secretive way. But he! T. Tembarom with something up his sleeve! One can't imagine it.” “Almost everybody has. I found that out long years ago,” said Palliser, looking at his cigar end again as if consulting it. “Since I arrived at the conclusion, I always take it for granted, and look out for it. I've become rather clever in following such things up, and I have taken an unusual interest in T. Tembarom from the first.” Lady Mallowe turned her handsome face, much softened by an enwreathing gauze scarf, toward him anxiously. “Do you think his depression, or whatever it is, means Joan?” she asked. “If he is depressed by her, you need not be discouraged,” smiled Palliser. “The time to lose hope would be when, despite her ingenuities, he became entirely cheerful. But,” he added after a moment of pause, “I have an idea there is some other little thing.” “Do you suppose that some young woman he has left behind in New York is demanding her rights?” said Lady Mallowe, with annoyance. “That is exactly the kind of thing Joan would like to hear, and so entirely natural. Some shop-girl or other.” “Quite natural, as you say; but he would scarcely be running up to London and consulting Scotland Yard about her,” Palliser answered.