Yet what had she said?  Nothing very particular.  Was it the bright intelligence of the gray eyes, that seemed to see everything he meant with an instant quickness, and that seemed to agree with him even before he spoke?  He reflected, now that he was in the open air, that he must have persecuted these two women dreadfully.  In getting away from Lavender’s affairs they had touched on pictures, books and what not—­on the young poet who was playing Alfred de Musset in England; on the great philosopher who had gone into the House to confuse and bewilder the country gentlemen there; on all sorts of topics, indeed, except those which, as Ingram had anticipated, such a creature as Mrs. Lorraine would naturally have found interesting.  And he had to confess to himself that he had lectured his two helpless victims most unmercifully.  He was quite conscious that he sometimes laid down the law in an authoritative and even sententious manner.  On first going into the house certain things said by Mrs. Lorraine had almost surprised him into a mood of mere acquiescence; but after luncheon he had assumed his ordinary manner of tutor in general to the universe, and had informed those two women, in a distinct fashion, what their opinions ought to be on half the social conundrums of the day.

He now reflected, with much compunction, that this was highly improper.  He ought to have asked about flower-shows, and inquired whether the princess of Wales was looking well of late.  Some reference to the last Parisian comedy might have introduced a disquisition on the new grays and greens of the French milliners, with a passing mention made of the price paid for a pair of ponies by a certain marquise unattached.  He had not spoken of one of these things:  perhaps he could not if he had tried.  He remembered, with an awful consciousness of guilt, that he had actually discoursed of woman suffrage, of the public conscience of New York, of the extirpation of the Indians, and a dozen different things, not only taking no heed of any opinions that his audience of two might hold, but insisting on their accepting his opinions as the expression of absolute and incontrovertible truth.

He became more and more dissatisfied with himself.  If he could only go back now, he would be much more wary, more submissive and complaisant, more anxious to please.  What right had he to abuse the courtesy and hospitality of these two strangers, and lecture them on the Constitution of their own country?  He was annoyed beyond expression that they had listened to him with so much patience.

And yet he could not have seriously offended them, for they had earnestly besought him to dine with them on the following Tuesday evening, to meet an American judge; and when he had consented Mrs. Lorraine had written down on a card the date and hour, lest he should forget.  He had that card in his pocket:  surely he could not have offended them?  If he had pursued this series of questions, he might have gone on to