‘My dear George, do you hear? Even if you unfortunately have no love for your mother, you may still pay some respect, some ordinary courtesy towards your father’s wife.’ ‘For my father’s wife I have all possible respect,’ he began. My lady’s dark eyebrows went up until they nearly met her fair hair. ‘Indeed! You have a most original fashion of showing it!’ ‘But—for I, too, can issue a warning—I have very little of either for my cousin Jack Esdaile’s mistress.’ An instant of stupefaction. Then: ‘How dare you! How dare you!’ Lady Longmoor stormed. She took a couple of steps forward, with the intention, I verily believe, of boxing Hartover’s ears soundly. But he was too adroit for her. Catching her by both hands, he held them—not roughly, but with a gallant, if naughty grace, vastly engaging. Some colour had come into his face. His eyes and lips laughed saucily. ‘No, no, your Magnificence,’ he said. ‘That belongs to the past, to the old nursery days, here and at Hover, when I was too small to hit back. I have grown up since then, and we are more evenly matched.’ Ought I to interfere? To do so was to risk losing Hartover’s trust and affection for ever. Therefore I thought, and still think, not. Meanwhile, whether contact with physical force—to her a novel experience—tamed her, or whether conscience was the determining factor, I am uncertain; but— ‘You young boor!’ she exclaimed; and there ended all direct protest. For, at once, she began to try and make terms with him—an uneasiness, not to say an edge of fear, perceptible behind the fine chill of her manner. ‘Pray, what do you expect to gain by insulting me thus?’ ‘What I have never succeeded in gaining before—a clear stage and no favour.’ ‘Be a little more explicit, please—that is, if you really have anything to be explicit about.’ ‘Oh! dear, yes; plenty, plenty. I’ve no lack of material,’ Hartover answered. ‘But won’t you come and sit down, since you are tired, so that we may talk it over comfortably?’ And, releasing one hand, the boy led her across the lovely room to a large white and gold settee—prettily, as he might have led some charming partner after a dance—and, finally, sat down there beside her. ‘Is it necessary that a third person be present,’ she asked, ‘at this extraordinary interview?’ ‘I prefer Brownlow to stay, if he will,’ Hartover answered. ‘It is desirable in your interests just as much as in my own.’ ‘A packed jury! However, I am at your mercy—two men to one woman. If you command I cannot do otherwise than obey.’ And she folded her hands in her lap, settling her beautiful shoulders back against the soft white and gold cushions. ‘Now for this very chivalrous bargaining,’ she said scornfully. ‘For a bargain is just what it comes to, neither more nor less, I imagine.’