She stopped on the path. “Yes, I do think I’m right, Mr Wilbraham. But that’s not it. If it were merely a question of right, it would be unneighbourly to insist. I’m not hurt by Lord Lynborough’s using this path. But I’m hurt by Lord Lynborough’s discourtesy. In my country women are treated with respect--even sometimes (she gave a bitter little laugh) with deference. That doesn’t seem to occur to Lord Lynborough.” “Well, you know----” “Oh, I can’t let you say a word against him, whatever you may be obliged to think. In your position--as his friend--that would be disloyal; and the one thing I dislike is disloyalty. Only I was anxious”--she turned and faced him--“that you should understand my position--and that Mr Stabb should too. I shall be very glad if you and Mr Stabb will use the path whenever you like. If the gate’s locked you can manage the wall!” “I’m--I’m most awfully obliged to you--er--Marchesa--but you see----” “No more need be said about that, Mr Wilbraham. You’re heartily welcome. Lord Lynborough would have been heartily welcome too, if he would have approached me properly. I was open to discussion. I received orders. I don’t take orders--not even from Lord Lynborough.” She looked splendid--so Roger thought. The underlying red dyed the olive to a brighter hue; her eyes were very proud; the red lips shut decisively. Just like a Roman Empress! Then her face underwent a rapid transformation; the lips parted, the eyes laughed, the cheeks faded to hues less stormy, yet not less beautiful. (These are recorded as Mr Wilbraham’s impressions.) Lightly she laid the tips of her fingers on his arm for just a moment. “There--don’t let’s talk any more about disagreeable things,” she said. “It’s too beautiful an afternoon. Can you spare just five minutes? The strawberries are splendid! I want some--and it’s so hot to pick them for oneself!” Roger paused, twisting the towel round his neck. “Only five minutes!” pleaded--yes, pleaded--the beautiful Marchesa. “Then you can go and have your swim in peace.” It was a question whether poor Roger was to do anything more in peace that day--but he went and picked the strawberries. CHAPTER IX LYNBOROUGH DROPS A CATCH