Christian trembled for the secret of the pearl.

“Bill tells me,” began Judith, after the late breakfast had been disposed of, settling herself luxuriously in an armchair in the round tower-room which she had made her own sitting-room and lighting a cigarette, “that our tenants—­I mean Papa’s people—­are getting rather nasty.  Of course, there was that disgraceful business when your mare was killed but I don’t mean that—­Bill thinks old Fairfax was right in advising Papa to do nothing about that—­but about this archaic nonsense of feudal feeling and not selling the property.  Of course he’s bound to lose by the sale, but the longer he waits the worse it gets.”

“I don’t think it’s only feudal feeling—­he says he can’t afford to sell,” began Christian.

“Oh, I know all that, my dear,” interrupted Judith; “’the infernal mortgagees, and the damned charges, and that blackguard rebel, young Mangan, who cut the ground from under his feet,’ and so on.  I’ve heard it all from Papa, exactly five thousand times.  But the point is that there was a meeting at Pribawn, with the priest in the chair, and there were furious speeches, and they talked of boycotting Papa, and some steps ought to be taken.  It’s an intolerable nuisance being boycotted, if it’s nothing else, and most expensive.  I was with the O’Donnells that time when they were boycotted—­up at five every morning to milk the cows and light the kitchen fire, and having to get every earthly thing by post from London!”

“I’ll take as many steps as you like,” said Christian, “if you’ll only tell me where to take them.”

Judith took her cigarette out of her mouth, and blew a ring of smoke, regarding her younger sister the while with a shrewd and wary blue eye.

“I’ve often said to you, my dear child,” she began, in a voice that seemed intended to usher in a change of subject, “that if you won’t take an interest in men, they won’t take an interest; in you.”

“Then why repeat the statement?” said Christian, wondering what Judith was working up to, and girding herself for battle; “true and beautiful though it is!”

“Because, my dear—­and I may say I speak as one having authority and not as the scribes—­in my opinion, and judging by what I perceived with about a quarter of one eye at breakfast, you have only to hold up your little finger, in a friendly and encouraging manner, and our young friend and relative, Mr. Coppinger, will—­I admit I don’t quite know what people do with little fingers in these cases, something affectionate, no doubt!”

“I thought your authority would have extended to little fingers!” broke in Christian, sparring for wind, and wishing she were not facing the window; “in any case, I fail to see what mine, in this instance, has to say to our being boycotted?”

“My dear girl,” said Judith, leaning forward, and speaking with solemnity, “the priests won’t want to fall foul of anyone with as much money as Larry!”