“What’s that,” he asked, “about Sir Patrick and Arnold?”

“Nothing very interesting to you,” Blanche answered, readily.  “I will repeat it if you like.  I was telling Anne about my step-mother, Lady Lundie.  After what happened that day in Portland Place, she has requested Sir Patrick and Arnold to consider themselves, for the future, as total strangers to her.  That’s all.”

“Oh!” said Geoffrey, eying her narrowly.

“Ask my uncle,” returned Blanche, “if you don’t believe that I have reported her correctly.  She gave us all our dismissal, in her most magnificent manner, and in those very words.  Didn’t she, Sir Patrick?”

It was perfectly true.  Blanche’s readiness of resource had met the emergency of the moment by describing something, in connection with Sir Patrick and Arnold, which had really happened.  Silenced on one side, in spite of himself, Geoffrey was at the same moment pressed on the other for an answer to his mother’s message.

“I must take your reply to Lady Holchester,” said Sir Patrick.  “What is it to be?”

Geoffrey looked hard at him, without making any reply.

Sir Patrick repeated the message—­with a special emphasis on that part of it which related to Anne.  The emphasis roused Geoffrey’s temper.

“You and my mother have made that message up between you, to try me!” he burst out.  “Damn all underhand work is what I say!”

“I am waiting for your answer,” persisted Sir Patrick, steadily ignoring the words which had just been addressed to him.

Geoffrey glanced at Anne, and suddenly recovered himself.

“My love to my mother,” he said.  “I’ll go to her to-morrow—­and take my wife with me, with the greatest pleasure.  Do you hear that?  With the greatest pleasure.”  He stopped to observe the effect of his reply.  Sir Patrick waited impenetrably to hear more—­if he had more to say.  “I’m sorry I lost my temper just now,” he resumed “I am badly treated—­I’m distrusted without a cause.  I ask you to bear witness,” he added, his voice getting louder again, while his eyes moved uneasily backward and forward between Sir Patrick and Anne, “that I treat my wife as becomes a lady.  Her friend calls on her—­and she’s free to receive her friend.  My mother wants to see her—­and I promise to take her to my mother’s.  At two o’clock to-morrow.  Where am I to blame?  You stand there looking at me, and saying nothing.  Where am I to blame?”

“If a man’s own conscience justifies him, Mr. Delamayn,” said Sir Patrick, “the opinions of others are of very little importance.  My errand here is performed.”

As he turned to bid Anne farewell, the uneasiness that he felt at leaving her forced its way to view.  The color faded out of his face.  His hand trembled as it closed tenderly and firmly on hers.  “I shall see you to-morrow, at Holchester House,” he said; giving his arm while he spoke to Blanche.  He took leave of Geoffrey, without looking at him again, and without seeing his offered hand.  In another minute they were gone.