"’Infamous!’ Really, Owen, your notions are too old-fashioned for anything." Her laughter broke out, and her chains and bangles jingled an accompaniment. "Do," she urged, "come out of your shell. Dine with us on Thursday. We have a box for the ’Ministers’ Theatre. We’ll go on, you and I, George and Irma, from there to the cabaret supper at the ’Rocroy.’ We can’t afford the ’Upas,’ the subscription is too fearfully prohibitive. But the entertainment at the ’Rocroy’ is really _chic_—the dancing is as good—everyone says—as they have it at Maxim’s. Do come! Of course, you can trust us not to blab to your wife! Mercy! how severe you look!" Her tone changed, became wheedling, her made-up eyes languished tenderly. "Odd! how we poor, silly women prefer the men who bully us. Come! One chance more. Dine Thursday and see ’Squiffed’ at the ’Ministers’—try a whiff of Paris at the ’Rocroy’ after midnight, ’twill buck you up like nothing else—take my word! Won’t you?" "I will not!" "Why not?" "I have told you why not. Because these places are centres of corruption, schools for the inculcation and practice of vice in every form. Men and women, young or old, those who take part in or witness one of these loathsome dances, hot and reeking from the brothels and voodoo-houses of Cuba and the Argentine are equally degraded. I had rather see my niece Patrine dead and in her coffin than know her capable of appreciating such abominable exhibitions, pernicious in their effects, as I, and others of my profession have grave reason to know!—ruinous in their results to body, mind, and soul!" "Intolerable!" Her plump, middle-aged face was leaden grey beneath her violet veil as she screamed at him: "You have insulted me! Horribly—abominably! ... How dare you tell me that I frequent infamous places, and encourage my daughter to visit schools of vice! And it is not for Irma you are so rottenly scrupulous, but for Patrine, your wife’s favourite! Who will do as she pleases, and marry whom she prefers without ’by your leave’ or with mine! She is a mule for self-will and obstinacy—another point of resemblance to yourself! ..." He had recovered his stern self-possession. His face was granite as he said: "I have not insulted you, but if you will set no example to your daughters in avoiding these evils, it is my duty to expostulate." She reared like an angry cobra, then spat her jet of scalding venom. "I take leave to think my present example quite harmless to Irma and Patrine. Now yours—of a few years ago—was certainly calculated to damage the bodily and worldly prospects of your son." She added, as Saxham silently put out his hand to touch the bell: "No! please don’t ring. I know my way out. Good-morning.... Pray remember me to Bawne and your wife!" *CHAPTER XVIII* *SAXHAM PAYS*