“Then, my dear,” he said very deliberately, “let me recommend you once more to have recourse to your ever romantic imagination!”

She quivered, and clenched her hands, as if goaded beyond endurance.  “You do not treat me fairly,” she murmured under her breath.

Sir Roland continued to look at her with the air of a naturalist examining an interesting specimen of his cult.  He said nothing till, driven by his scrutiny, she turned and faced him.

“What is your complaint?” he asked then.

She hesitated for an instant.  There was doubt—­even a hint of fear—­upon her beautiful face.  Then, with a certain recklessness, she spoke: 

“I have been accustomed to freedom of action all my life.  I never dreamed, when I married you, that I should be called upon to sacrifice this.”

Her voice quivered.  She would not meet his eyes.  Sir Roland sat and passively regarded her.  His face expressed no more than a detached and waning interest.

“I am sorry,” he said finally, “that the romance of your marriage has ceased to attract you.  But I was not aware that its hold upon you was ever very strong.”

Lady Brooke made a quick movement, and broke into a light laugh.

“It certainly did not fall upon very fruitful ground,” she said.  “It is scarcely surprising that it did not flourish.”

Sir Roland made no response.  The interest had faded entirely from his face.  He looked supremely bored.

Lady Brooke moved towards the door.

“It seems to be your pleasure to thwart me at every turn,” she said.  “A labourer’s wife has more variety in her existence than I.”

“Infinitely more,” said Sir Roland, returning to his paper.  “A labourer’s wife, my dear, has an occasional beating to chasten her spirit, and she is considerably the better for it.”

His wife stood still, very erect and queenly.

“Not only the better, but the happier,” she said very bitterly.  “Even a dog would rather be beaten than kicked to one side.”

Sir Roland lowered his paper again with startling suddenness.

“Is that your point of view?” he said.  “Then I fear I have been neglecting my duty most outrageously.  However, it is an omission easily remedied.  Let me hear no more of this masquerade, Lady Brooke!  You have my orders, and if you transgress them you will be punished in a fashion scarcely to your liking.  Is that clearly understood?”

He looked straight up at her with cold, smiling eyes that yet seemed to convey a steely warning.

She shivered very slightly as she encountered them.  “You make a mockery of everything,” she said, her voice very low.

Sir Roland uttered a quiet laugh.

“I am nevertheless a man of my word, Naomi,” he said.  “If you wish to test me, you have your opportunity.”

He immersed himself finally in his paper as he ended, and she, with a smile of proud contempt, turned and passed from the room.