"Curious!" Mrs. Roylake observed. "You not only don't get luncheon among your friends: you don't even get information. To know a miller, and not to know the price of flour, is ignorance presented in one of its most pitiable aspects. And how is Miss Toller looking? Perfectly charming?" I was angry by this time. "You have exactly described her," I said. Mrs. Roylake began to get angry, on her side. "Surely a little coarse and vulgar?" she suggested, reverting to poor Cristel. "Would you like to judge for yourself?" I asked. "I shall be happy, Mrs. Roylake, to take you to the mill." My stepmother's knowledge of the world implied considerable acquaintance--how obtained I do not pretend to know--with the characters of men. Discovering that she was in danger of overstepping the limits of my patience, she drew back with a skill which performed the retrograde movement without permitting it to betray itself. "We have carried our little joke, my dear Gerard, far enough," she said. "I fancy your residence in Germany has rather blunted your native English sense of humor. You don't suppose, I hope and trust, that I am so insensible to our relative positions as to think of interfering in your choice of friends or associates. If you are not aware of it already, let me remind you that this house is now yours; not mine. I live here--gladly live here, my dear boy--by your indulgence; fortified (I am sure) by your regard for your excellent father's wishes as expressed in his will--" I stopped her there. She had got the better of me with a dexterity which I see now, but which I was not clever enough to appreciate at time. In a burst of generosity, I entreated her to consider Trimley Deen as her house, and never to mention such a shocking subject as my authority again. After this, need I say that the most amiable of women took me out in her carriage, and introduced me to some of the best society in England?