'Oh, all right, by ourselves,' agreed Beaufort with a contemptuous laugh. Lady Blixworth decided not to indulge her humour any longer; she was distrustful of what might happen. 'You can have your talk any time,' she said, rising. She spoke carelessly, but she knew how to assert her right to social command in her own house. 'Just now I want Mortimer to take me to have something cool. Good-night, Beaufort.' She gave him her hand. He took it, not seeing what else to do. Mervyn had fallen back a step as his bow acknowledged the hostess's command. 'Good-night, Beaufort,' said Lady Blixworth, smiling again. She left him there, and walked off with Mervyn. 'If you must talk to him, wait,' she advised, laughing. 'Or write to him--that's better. Or let it alone--that's best of all. But at any rate I don't want what the papers call a _fracas_, and I call a shindy, in my house. With your people here too!' The Barmouths' presence would make a shindy seem like sacrilege. 'You're quite right,' he said gravely. She glanced at him in pity and in ridicule. 'Heavens, how you take things, Mortimer!' she murmured. 'You might have seen that he only wanted to be nasty.' 'He shall have no more opportunities of obtruding himself on Trix.' 'Poor Trix!' sighed Lady Blixworth. It was not quite clear what especial feature of Trix's position she was commiserating. 'I shall speak plainly to him.' 'That's just why I wouldn't let it occur in my house.' 'Why do you have him here?' 'I believe that in the end it's through a consciousness of my own imperfections.' She felt for and with her companion, but she could not help chaffing him again. 'He's had rather hard lines too, you know.' 'He's not had half what he's deserved. I want to see Trix.' 'Oh, put that off too!' She had sighted Trix and Glentorly, and a dexterous pressure of her arm headed him in the opposite direction. 'You must feed me first, anyhow,' she insisted. Understanding that he had been in effect dismissed from the house, knowing at least that with his hostess's countenance withdrawn from him he would find little comfort there, Beaufort Chance took his departure. His mood was savage: he had gratified revenge at the cost of lowering himself farther; if he had done his best to ruin Trix, he had done something more for himself in the same direction. Yet he had enjoyed the doing of it. A savage triumph struggled with the soreness in him. He had come back to Lady Blixworth to boast to her; Mervyn had spoilt that scheme. He felt the need of recounting his exploit to somebody who would see the glory of it. Connie Fricker had told him that they were going to the opera, and that she supposed there would be some supper afterwards, if he liked to drop in. Almost unconsciously his steps turned towards the house.