This is carrying the war into the enemy’s camp with a vengeance.  There is something in her tone that startles Rylton.  Has she heard of that old attachment?  His heart grows sick within him.  Has it come to this, then?  Is there to be concealment—­deception on his part?  Before his marriage he had thought nothing of his love for Marian in so far as it could touch his wife, but now—­now, if she knows!  But how can she know?  And besides——­

Here his wrath grows warm again.  Even if she does know, how does that affect her own behaviour?  Her sin is of her own making. His sin——­ Was it ever a sin?  Was it not a true, a loyal love?  And when hope of its fulfilment was denied him, when he placed a barrier between it and him, had he not been true to that barrier?  Only to-night—­to-night when, maddened by the folly of this girl before him—­he had let his heart stir again—­had given way to the love that had swayed him for two long years and more.

“You forget yourself,” says he coldly.

“Oh no, I don’t,” says Tita, to whom this answer sounds rather overbearing.  “Why should I?” She glances at him mischievously from under her long lashes.  “I should be the most unselfish person alive if I did that.”  She hesitates for a moment, and then, “Do you ever forget yourself?” asks she saucily.

She laughs—­her little saucy air suits her.  She is delighted with herself for having called Mrs. Bethune “horrid,” and given him such a delicious tit-for-tat.  She looks full of fun and mischief.  There is no longer an atom of rancour about her.  Rylton, in spite of himself, acknowledges her charm; but what does she mean by this sudden sweetness—­this sudden sauciness?  Is she holding out the olive-branch to him?  If so, he will accept it.  After all, he may have wronged her in many ways; and at all events, her faults—­her very worst fault—­must fall short of crime.

“Sometimes,” replies he.  He smiles.  “I forgot myself just now, perhaps.  But you must admit I had provocation.  You——­”

“Oh, don’t begin it all over again,” cries she, with delightful verve.  “Why should you scold me, or I scold you?  Scolding is very nasty, like medicine.”  She makes a little face.  “And, you know, before we married we arranged everything.”

“Before?”

“Yes, before, of course.  Well—­good-night!”

“No; don’t go.  Tell me what it was we arranged before our marriage?”

Rylton has drawn a chair for her towards the fire that is lighting in his grate, and now sinks into another.

“It’s awfully late, isn’t it?” says Tita, with a yawn, “but I’ll stay a minute or two.  Why, what we arranged was, that we should be friends, you and I—­eh?”

“Well?”

“Well—­that’s all.  Poke up the fire, and let me see a blaze.  Fancy your having a fire so early!”

“Haven’t you one?”

“Yes.  But then I’m a woman.  However, when I see one I want it poked.  I want it blazing.”