‘Who is he? My book has probably touched him on a sore place!’ Carlyon did not answer immediately; he was troubled with an awkward cough. ‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘it was Fitz-Hugh; you know him—an awfully good fellow,—has sisters and all that—says he wouldn’t let his sisters read your book for the world, and it was deuced disagreeable for me to hear, I can tell you.’ ‘You have read my book,’ said Delicia, slowly; ‘and did you discover anything of the nature complained of by Captain Fitz-Hugh?’ Again Lord Carlyon coughed uncomfortably. ‘Well, upon my word, I don’t exactly remember now, but I can’t say I did!’ Delicia still kept her eyes fixed upon him. ‘Then, of course, you defended me?’ Carlyon flushed, and began to butter a piece of toast in nervous haste. ‘Why, there was no need for defence,’ he stammered. ‘The whole thing is in a nutshell—an author’s an author, man or woman, and there’s an end of it. Of course you’re alone responsible for the book, and, as I said, if he don’t like it he needn’t read it, and no one asked him to give it to his sisters!’ ‘You prevaricate,’ interrupted Delicia, steadily; ‘But perhaps it is as well you did not think it necessary to defend me to such a man as Captain Fitz-Hugh, who for years has been the notorious lover of Lady Rapley, to the disgrace of her husband who permits the scandal. And for Captain Fitz-Hugh’s sisters, who are the chief purveyors of slander in the wretched little provincial town where they live, each one of them trying her best to catch the curate or the squire, I shall very willingly write a book some day that deals solely with the petty lives lived by such women—women more unclean in mind than a Swift, and lower in the grade of intellect than an aspiring tadpole, who at any rate has the laudable ambition and intention of becoming an actual frog some day!’ Carlyon stared, vaguely startled and chilled by her cold, calm accents. ‘By Jove! You _are_ cutting, you know, Delicia!’ he expostulated. ‘Poor Fitz-Hugh! he can’t help himself falling in love with Lady Rapley—’ ‘Can’t help himself!’ echoed Delicia, with supreme scorn. ‘Can he not help disgracing her? Is it not possible to love greatly and nobly, and die with the secret kept? Is there no dignity left in manhood? Or in womanhood? Do you think, for instance, that _I_ would permit myself to love any other man but you?’ His handsome face flushed, and his eyes kindled. He smiled a self-satisfied smile. ‘Upon my life, that’s splendid—the way you say that!’ he exclaimed. ‘But all women are not like you—’