“Your words, Mariana,” he said coldly, “‘proper’ and ‘reasonable,’ in the connection you have used them, would be ridiculous if they weren’t disgraceful.  I have been patient with a certain amount of rash talk, yes—­and conduct, but this must be the end.  I had intended to have you leave Shadrach this morning, then later.  Either that or I’ll be forced to make my excuses to James Polder.”  He glanced with a veiled anxiety at the latter but could read nothing from the lowered, pinched countenance.

“We could leave together if you are tired of us,” Mariana continued.  “It’s James, really, who is making all the trouble.  He has some stupid idea about nobility of conduct and my best good.  But the real truth is that he’s afraid, for me, of course, and so he won’t listen.”

“Won’t you show her that it is impossible?” the younger man cried at Howat Penny.  “I can’t take advantage of her heavenly courage.  She doesn’t realize the weight of opinion.  It would make—­”

“Stuff,” she interrupted.  “You’d make steel, and I would make an occasional dessert.  You must be told, Jimmy, that the afternoon calling you have confused with life really isn’t done any more.  You have been brought up in rather a deadly way.  You ought to be saved from yourself.  I am a very mature person, and I am advising you calmly.”

The dinner had come to an end; a decanter, in old-fashioned blue and gold cutting, of brandy, a silver basket of oranges, the coffee cups and glasses, were all that remained; and James Polder played with the cut fruit, the half-full cordial glass before him.  “I am going to be brutally frank, Jimmy,” she said again.  “You know that is a habit of mine, too.  You are a very brilliant young man, but you are not omnipotent—­you require stiffening, like a collar.  And I would be a splendid laundress for you.  Harriet is a long shot too lenient.  I might not be so comfortable to live with, but I’d be bracing.  I’d have you in that dirty little superintendent’s box in no time.”

He made no reply; and, obviously tormented, automatically squeezed a half orange into his goblet.  Then he took a sip of brandy.

“Together, James,” Mariana asserted, “we would go up like a kite.  By yourself—­forgive me—­you haven’t enough patience, enough balance; you wouldn’t fly steadily.  You might break all your sticks on the ground.”  He moodily emptied what remained of his brandy into the goblet and orange juice, and pushed it impatiently away.  “I’d rather do that,” he answered, “than try to carry you with me on such a flight.”

Howat Penny was conscious of a diminution of his fears.  He had entirely underrated James Polder; the latter was an immense sight steadier than Mariana.  His thoughts strayed momentarily to Harriet, back again in her public orbit.  He could imagine that she had found Harrisburg insuperably dull, the hours with only Cherette empty after the emotional debauches of the plays elected by Vivian Blane.  Yes, this young Polder would stand admirably firm.  Mariana frowned at the cobalt smoke of her cigarette.  “I am in a very bad temper,” she told them.  “No one for a minute thinks of what my feeling may be.  You are both entirely concerned with your own nice sense of virtue.”