The thoughts that passed through Letitia’s mind in the moment of that embrace were too many and too swift to be put on paper. She tore herself out of the huge arms which held her up like an infant, jumping on the floor in a momentary paroxysm of passion, in which if she could she would have killed the inopportune visitor. But even while she did so a whole discussion, argument and counter argument flashed through her mind. She would have liked to have killed him: but he was here, and the butler was at the door announcing that dinner was served, and Lady Witheringham was certainly surveying this big brute, this horrible savage as Letitia called him in her heart--through those double eyeglasses. It was necessary that the mistress of the house should quench every sentiment and keep up appearances. She said, “Ralph!” with a little shriek in which some of her excitement got out. “Gracious goodness!” said Letitia, “I thought you were in Africa. How could you give me such a start without a word of warning. John, it’s Ralph----” She paused a moment, and the desperate emergency put words into her mouth. “He has been after--big game--till he looks like a lion out of the woods himself,” she cried, with another little shriek--this time of laughter. There was a wildness in it which half betrayed her, but she recovered herself with a little stamp of her foot. “John,” she said, “dinner is waiting--don’t let us keep everything back for this little family scene.” She seized her brother by the hand while her guests filed off decorously, almost wounding him with the sharp pressure of her finger nails. “Don’t come to dinner,” she whispered; “Mary Hill’s in the house.” Ralph gave another great laugh. “As if I didn’t know that,” he said; “but I’m coming to dinner. I want to see you in all your grandeur, Tisch.” She had to take old Lord Witheringham’s arm while the brute was talking, and to smile into the old gentleman’s face and to sweep past the stranger, leaving him to follow or not as he pleased. Her heart was beating wildly with fury and dismay. “Don’t you think, Lord Witheringham, it is a bad thing when young men go off into the desert--after big game--and grow into savages?” she said. She laughed to blow off some of the excitement, but there was a glare which nobody could have believed possible in her dull eyes.