“I think perhaps I might be consulted in the matter,” she returned lightly when Baines had left the room. “The settling of questions of that kind is usually considered a woman’s prerogative. Supposing”--smiling--“I don’t ask you to tea, after all?” There was a smouldering fire in the glance he bestowed upon her vivid face. “It wouldn’t make a bit of difference--in the long run,” he replied deliberately. “If a man makes up his mind he can usually get his own way--over most things.” “You can’t force friendship,” she said quickly. It was as though she were defying something that threatened. Again that queer gleam showed for a moment in his eyes. “Friendship? No, perhaps not,” he conceded. He said no more and an uncomfortable silence fell between them. Jean was suddenly conscious that it might be possible to be a little afraid of this man. She did not like that side of him--the self-willed, masterful side--of which, almost deliberately, he had just given her a glimpse. With the appearance of tea the slight sense of tension vanished, and the conversation dropped into more ordinary channels. She discovered that he had travelled considerably and was familiar with many of the places to which, at different times, she had accompanied her father and mother, and over the interchange of recollections the little hint of discord--of challenge, almost--was forgotten. They were still chatting amicably together half an hour later when Blaise returned. The latter’s face darkened as he entered the hall and found them together, nor did it lighten when Jean recounted the afternoon’s adventure. “I suppose Miss Peterson has your lodge-keeper’s boys to thank for this?” he demanded stormily of Burke. “I’m afraid that’s so,” admitted the other. “If you had any consideration for your neighbours, you’d sack the lot of them,” returned Blaise sharply. “Or else see that they’re kept under proper control. They’ve given trouble before, but it is a little too much of a good thing when they dare to play practical jokes of that description on a guest of ours.” Jean stared at him in astonishment. She had told the story as rather a good joke and in explanation of Burke’s presence, and, instead of laughing at her dilemma, Tormarin appeared to be thoroughly angry over the matter. Burke remained coolly unprovoked. “I can’t say I’ve any quarrel with the young ruffians,” he said. “They afforded me a charming afternoon.” “Doubtless,” retorted Blaise. “But that’s hardly the point. Anyway”--heatedly--“I’ll thank you to see that those lads are kept in hand for the future.” Jean glanced across at Burke with some apprehension, half fearing a responsive explosion of wrath on his part, but to her relief he was smiling--a twinkling, mirthful smile that redeemed the ugliness of his features. “’Fraid I can’t truthfully declare I’m sorry, Tormarin,” he said good-humouredly. “You wouldn’t, in my place.”