That night Lily came to his room.  Her eyes were red, but there was fire in them.  She seated herself and surveyed her brother with ominous self-possession.

“Well, Lily,” he said pleasantly, prepared to keep his temper at all hazards.

“Well, Louis, I understand from mother that you have some questions to ask me.”

“No questions, little sister; only your sympathetic attention while I tell you how matters stand with me.”

“You require too much!” she said shortly.

“If I ask for your sympathy?”

“Not if you ask it for yourself, Louis.  But if you include that—­”

“Please, dear!” he interrupted, checking her with a slight gesture—­for an instant only; then she went on in a determined voice: 

“Louis, I might as well tell you at once that I have no sympathy for her.  I wrote to her, out of sheer kindness, for her own good—­and she replied so insolently that—­that I am not yet perfectly recovered—­”

“What did you write?”

Mrs. Collis remained disdainfully silent, but her eyes sparkled.

“Won’t you tell me,” he asked, patiently, “what it was you wrote to Valerie West?”

“Yes, I’ll tell you if you insist on knowing!—­even if you do misconstrue it!  I wrote to her—­for her own sake—­and to avoid ill-natured comment,—­suggesting that she be seen less frequently with you in public.  I wrote as nicely, as kindly, as delicately as I knew how.  And her reply was a practical request that I mind my business!...  Which was vulgar and outrageous, considering that she had given me her promise—­” Mrs. Collis checked herself in her headlong and indignant complaint; then she coloured painfully, but her mouth settled into tight, uncompromising lines.

“What promise had Valerie West made you?” he asked, resolutely subduing his amazement and irritation.

For a moment Mrs. Collis hesitated; then, realising that matters had gone too far for concealment, she answered almost violently: 

“She promised me not to marry you,—­if you must know!  I can’t help what you think about it; I realised that you were infatuated—­that you were making a fatal and terrible mistake—­ruining life for yourself and for your family—­and I went to her and told her so!  I’ve done all I could to save you.  I suppose I have gained your enmity by doing it.  She promised me not to marry you—­but she’ll probably break her word.  If you mean to marry her you’ll do so, no doubt.  But, Louis, if you do, such a step will sever all social relations between you and your family.  Because I will not receive her!  Nor will my friends—­nor yours—­nor father’s and mother’s friends!  And that settles it.”

He spoke with great care, hesitating, picking and choosing his words: 

“Is it—­possible that you did—­such a thing—­as to write to Valerie West—­threatening her with my family’s displeasure if she married me?”