“Do you know, I believe it is, Snake-girl!” she said, and there was something wistful in her eyes, “but you are twenty, and I am past thirty, and--he is a man!--so one can’t be too careful!” Then she laughed, and I left her putting a toe into a blue satin slipper, and ringing for her maid. I don’t think age can matter much, she is far far more attractive than any girl, and she need not pretend she is afraid of me. But the thing that struck me then, and has always struck me since is that to have to _hold_ a man by one’s own manœuvres could not be agreeable to one’s self-respect. I would _never_ do that under any circumstances; if he would not stay because it was the thing he wanted to do most in the world, he might go. I should say, “_Je m’en fiche!_” At luncheon, for which the guns came in,--no nice picnic in a lodge as at Branches--I purposely sat between two old gentlemen, and did my best to be respectful and intelligent. One was quite a nice old thing, and at the end began paying me compliments. He laughed, and laughed at everything I said. Opposite me were Malcolm and Lord Robert, with Lady Ver between them. They both looked sulky. It was quite a while before she could get them gay and pleasant. I did not enjoy myself. After it was over, Lord Robert deliberately walked up to me. “Why are you so capricious?” he asked. “I won’t be treated like this, you know very well I have only come here to see you. We are such friends--or were. Why?” Oh! I did want to say I was friends still, and would love to talk to him. He seemed so adorably good looking, and such a shape! and his blue eyes had the nicest flash of anger in them. I could have kept my promise to the letter, and yet broken it in the spirit, easily enough, by letting him understand by inference--but of course one could not be so mean as that, when one was going to eat her salt, so I looked out of the window, and answered coldly that I was quite friendly, and did not understand him, and I immediately turned to my old gentleman, and walked with him into the library. In fact I was as cool as I could be without being actually rude, but all the time there was a flat, heavy feeling round my heart. He looked so cross and reproachful, and I did not like him to think me capricious. We did not see them again until tea; the sportsmen, I mean. But tea at Tryland is not a friendly time. It is just as stiff as other meals. Lady Ver never let Lord Robert leave her side, and immediately after tea everybody who stayed in the drawing-room played bridge, where they were planted until the dressing-bell rang. One would have thought Lady Katherine would have disapproved of cards, but I suppose every one must have one contradiction about them, for she loves bridge, and played for the lowest stakes with the air of a “needy adventurer” as the books say.