"Di does her duty even when it isn't pleasant. Pity more of us don't." "Meaning that it is my unpleasant duty to marry Mr. Verinder's money?" "Hang Verinder and his money. I'm no end glad you can't stand him. Fact is, we didn't quite know how bad he was when we asked him to join us." "What then?" "Well, sure your money isn't on the wrong horse, Moya? Mind, I don't say it is. I ask." "If you mean Mr. Kilmeny, there hasn't been a word between us you couldn't have heard yourself," the girl told him stiffly. "If my memory serves it didn't use to be so much a matter of words. What about your feelings? Di fancies----" "Of course she does. She's always fancying. That's the business of a chaperone. It's perfectly absurd," Moya flung back hotly. "Glad you see it that way. It wouldn't do, of course." She looked directly at him, a challenge in her stormy eyes. "The whole thing is ridiculous. The man hasn't given me a second thought. If you're going to warn anyone, it ought to be Joyce." Lord Farquhar looked straight at her. "Joyce has her eyes wide open. She can look out for herself." "And I can't?" "No, you can't--not when your feelings are involved. You're too impulsive, too generous." "It's all a storm in a teacup. I've only met him three times to talk with. He's been friendly--no more. But if he and I wanted to--not that there's the ghost of a chance of it, but if we did--I don't see why it wouldn't do." "Any number of reasons why it wouldn't. Marriage nowadays isn't entirely a matter of sentiment. You're an Englishwoman. He's an American, and will be to the end of the chapter." "I'm not English; I'm Irish--and the Irish make the best Americans," she told him sturdily. Farquhar ignored her protest. "His ways of thinking are foreign to yours, so are his habits of life. You're a delightful rebel, my dear, but you've got to come to heel in the end. All girls do. It's a rule of the game, and you'll have to accept it. No matter how captivating your highwayman may be--and upon my word I admire him tremendously--he is not your kind. He makes his own laws, and yours are made for you." "You're making one for me now, aren't you?" she demanded rebelliously. "Let's not put it so strong as that. I'm trying to persuade you to something of which you are fully persuaded already." "I'm not--not in the least. It's absurd to talk about it because the man hasn't the least idea of making love to me. But suppose he wanted to. Why shouldn't I listen to him? You tell me he doesn't have the same little conventions as we do. Thank heaven he hasn't. His mind is free. If that condemns him----" She broke off from sheer passionate inadequacy to express herself. "Those conventions are a part of your life, little girl. Can you imagine yourself sitting opposite him at breakfast for the rest of your natural days?" "You mean because he is a workingman, I suppose."