“Put ’em in the empty lodge at the north gate,” suggested Tussie.  “They’d be delighted.”

Lady Shuttleworth turned angrily on Fritzing—­she was indeed greatly irritated by Tussie’s unaccountable behaviour.  “Why don’t you build for yourself?” she asked.

“My niece has set her heart on these cottages in such a manner that I actually fear the consequences to her health if she does not get them.”

“Now, mother, you really can’t make Mr. Neumann-Schultz’s niece ill.”

“Dearest boy, have you suddenly lost your senses?”

“Not unless it’s losing them to be ready to do a kindness.”

“Well said, well said, young man,” said Fritzing approvingly.

“Tussie, have I ever shirked doing a kindness?” asked Lady Shuttleworth, touched on her tenderest point.

“Never.  And that’s why I can’t let you begin now,” said Tussie, smiling at her.

“Well said, well said, young man,” approved Fritzing.  “The woman up to a certain age should lead the youth, and he should in all things follow her counsels with respect and obedience.  But she for her part should know at what moment to lay down her authority, and begin, with a fitting modesty, to follow him whom she has hitherto led.”

“Is that what your niece does?” asked Lady Shuttleworth quickly.

“Madam?”

“Is she following you into these cottages, or are you following her?”

“You must pardon me, madam, if I decline to discuss my niece.”

“Do have a cigarette,” said Tussie, delighted.

“I never smoke, young man.”

“Something to drink, then?”

“I never drink, young man.”

“If I decide to let you have these cottages—­if I do,” said Lady Shuttleworth, divided between astonishment at everything about Fritzing and blankest amazement at her son’s behaviour, “you will understand that I only do it because my son seems to wish it.”

“Madam, provided I get the cottages I will understand anything you like.”

“First that.  Then I’d want some information about yourself.  I couldn’t let a stranger come and live in the very middle of my son’s estate unless I knew all about him.”

“Why, mother—­” began Tussie.

“Is not the willingness to give you your own price sufficient?” inquired Fritzing anxiously.

“Not in the least sufficient,” snapped Lady Shuttleworth.

“What do you wish to know, madam?” said Fritzing stiffly.

“I assure you a great deal.”

“Come, mother,” said Tussie, to whom this was painful, for was not the man, apart from his strange clothes and speeches, of a distinctly refined and intellectual appearance?  And even if he wasn’t, was he not still the uncle of that divine niece?—­“these are things for Dawson to arrange.”

Fritzing started at the hated name, and began to frown dreadfully.  His frown was always very impressive because of his bushy eyebrows and deep-set eyes.  “Dawson, as you call him,” he said, “and he certainly has no claim to any prefix of politeness, is not a person with whom I will consent to arrange anything.  Dawson is the most offensive creature who ever walked this earth clad in the outer semblance of one of God’s creatures.”