He must have been stung to sudden madness by the sight of the two of us together. In general he controlled himself in public. He was often cruel, but with a quiet subtle cruelty to which even the victims often didn't know how to take exception. But to-night the long-gathering fury of passion was incapable of further restraint. Behind it there was all the explosive force of a lifetime of pride, complacence, and self-love. The exquisite creature--a vision of soft rose, with six strings of pearls--who was parading her bargain, as you might say, without having paid for it, excited him to the point of frenzy. I saw later, what I didn't understand at the time, that he was striking at her through me. He was willing enough to strike at me, since I was the nobody who had forced herself into his family; but she was his first aim. Having looked at me disdainfully, he disdainfully looked away. "She certainly gave us an exhibition!" he said, with his incisive, whip-lash quietude. Mrs. Brokenshire dropped my hand. "Oh, Howard!" I think she backed away toward the nearest chair. I was vaguely conscious of curious eyes in the dimness about me as I stood alone before my critic. "I'm sorry if I've done anything wrong, Mr. Brokenshire," I said, meekly. "I didn't mean to." He looked over my head, speaking casually, as one who takes no interest in the subject. "All the great stupidities have been committed by people who didn't mean to--but there they are!" I continued to be meek. "I didn't know I had been stupid." "The stupid never do." "And I don't think I have been," I added, with rising spirit. Though there was consternation in the room behind me, Mr. Brokenshire merely said: "Unfortunately, you must let others judge of that." "But how?" I insisted. "If I have been, wouldn't it be a kindness on your part to tell me in what way?" He pretended not merely indifference, but reluctance. "Isn't that obvious?" "Not to me--and I don't think to any one else." "What do you call it when one--you compel me to speak frankly--what do you call it when one exposes one's ignorance of--of fundamental things before a roomful of people who've never set eyes on one before?" Since no one, not even Hugh, was brave enough to stand up for me, I had to do it for myself. "But I didn't know I had." "Probably not. It's what I warned you of, if you'll take the trouble to remember. I said--or it amounted to that--that until you'd learned the ways of the people who are generally recognized as _comme il faut_, you'd be wise in keeping yourself--unobtrusive." "And may I ask whether one becomes obtrusive merely in talking of public affairs?" "You'll pardon me for giving you a lesson before others; but, since you invite it--" "Quite so, Mr. Brokenshire, I do invite it." "Then I can only say that in what we call good society we become obtrusive in talking of things we know nothing about."