“I,” remarked Lady Norah, “shouldn’t so much as answer him, Helena.” “I shall certainly answer him and tell him that he’ll trespass on my property at his peril,” said the Marchesa haughtily. “Isn’t that the right way to put it, Mr Stillford?” “If it would be a trespass, that might be one way to put it,” was Stillford’s professionally cautious advice. “But as I ventured to tell you when you determined to put on the padlock, the rights in the matter are not quite as clear as we could wish.” “When I bought this place, I bought a private estate--a private estate, Mr Stillford--for myself--not a short cut for Lord Lynborough! Am I to put up a notice for him, ‘This Way to the Bathing Machines’?” “I wouldn’t stand it for a moment.” Captain Irons sounded bellicose. Violet Dufaure was amicably inclined. “You might give him leave to walk through. It would be a bore for him to go round by the road every time.” “Certainly I might give him leave if he asked for it,” retorted the Marchesa rather sharply. “But he doesn’t. He orders me to open my gate--and tells me he means to bathe! As if I cared whether he bathed or not! What is it to me, I ask you, Violet, whether the man bathes or not?” “I beg your pardon, Marchesa, but aren’t you getting a little off the point?” Stillford intervened deferentially. “No, I’m not. I never get off the point, Mr Stillford. Do I, Colonel Wenman?” “I’ve never known you to do it in my life, Marchesa.” There was, in fact, as Lynborough had ventured to anticipate, a flush on the Marchesa’s cheek, and the Colonel knew his place. “There, Mr Stillford!” she cried triumphantly. Then she swept--the expression is really applicable--across the room to her writing-table. “I shall be courteous, but quite decisive,” she announced over her shoulder as she sat down. Stillford stood by the fire, smiling doubtfully. Evidently it was no use trying to stop the Marchesa; she had insisted on locking the gate, and she would persist in keeping it locked till she was forced, by process of law or otherwise, to open it again. But if the Lords of Scarsmoor Castle really had used it without interruption for fifty years (as Lord Lynborough asserted)--well, the Marchesa’s rights were at least in a precarious position. The Marchesa came back with her letter in her hand. “‘The Marchesa di San Servolo,’” she read out to an admiring audience, “‘presents her compliments to Lord Lynborough. The Marchesa has no intention of removing the padlock and other obstacles which have been placed on the gate to prevent trespassing--either by Lord Lynborough or by anybody else. The Marchesa is not concerned to know Lord Lynborough’s plans in regard to bathing or otherwise. Nab Grange; 13th June.’” The Marchesa looked round on her friends with a satisfied air. “I call that good,” she remarked. “Don’t you, Norah?” “I don’t like the last sentence.”