‘So very old,’ says she. ‘Do you suppose, my dear Paul, with the stake you have in view, that I expected you to say the truth—to tell me that you had fallen violently in love with this little paltry creature, who has come out of no one knows where, except yourself, to go back to no one knows where when you are tired of her?’ ‘Look here,’ says Wyndham, driven beyond all courtesy by some feeling that he can hardly explain, ‘I think you have the worst mind of any woman I have ever met. I see now that it is useless to try to convince you; but remember—remember always’—he makes a distinct pause, as if on purpose, as if to fasten the words on her mind—‘what I say to you now—that anyone who calls Ella Moore anything less than the best woman on earth—lies!’ ‘Your infatuation has gone deep,’ says Mrs. Prior. ‘Few men would speak so strongly in favour of the virtue of their—friends.’ ‘I understand your hideous hint,’ says Wyndham, who has now grown cold and collected. ‘You are a woman, and it is hard to tell a woman that she lies. But if you were a man, I shouldn’t hesitate about it.’ ‘As I tell you, she has not improved your manners,’ says Mrs. Prior, with a bitter smile. She has not dreamt the affair would take this turn. She has believed that Paul, through dread of Shangarry’s displeasure, would at the most have made light of the matter, have parried the attack, and perhaps have sworn fresh allegiance to Josephine on the head of it. That he should defend this ‘creature’ and defy her, his aunt, because of her—— The situation has become strained beyond bearing. ‘If you do not love her, and she does not love you, and is not even your friend,’ says she sneeringly, ‘what is she to you?’ ‘My tenant—neither more nor less.’ ‘You mean to tell me, on your honour, that she pays you rent?’ ‘Certainly she does.’ ‘She is a _bonâ-fide_ tenant, nothing more? Then, if so, why all this mystery? Why did you give me to understand weeks ago that she was a man?’ ‘You understood that for yourself. And with regard to the mystery, it seems that she is desirous of privacy.’ ‘How very modest, and what an extraordinary tenant to pick up! May I ask where you first heard of her? By advertisement?’ ‘No.’ ‘How, then?’ For a moment Wyndham hesitates. Hesitation is supposed to lead to ruin, but Wyndham comes out of it sound in wind and limb. His mind had suffered a shock as it fell back upon that tragic scene in the Professor’s room, but recovered from it almost immediately. ‘You may have heard of Professor Hennessy,’ says he—‘a very distinguished man. He told me of her just before his death. Now’—sarcastically—‘have I answered enough of your questions? Is your conscience quite satisfied as to your duty?’