“Thank God for that!”

“Thank God, as you say.  But I should really be glad (as a mere matter of curiosity) to know what your extraordinary conduct means.  You present yourself in this room uninvited, you find a lady here, and you behave as if you had come into a shop and wanted to ask the price of something.  Let me give you a lesson in good manners.  Observe:  I receive you with a bow, and I say:  How do you do, Mr. Linley?  Do you understand me?”

“I don’t want to understand you—­I want to see Catherine.”

“Who is Catherine?”

“You know as well as I do—­your daughter.”

“My daughter, sir, is a stranger to you.  We will speak of her, if you please, by the name—­the illustrious name—­which she inherited at her birth.  You wish to see Mrs. Norman?”

“Call her what you like.  I have a word to say to her, and I mean to say it.”

“No, Mr. Linley, you won’t say it.”

“We’ll see about that!  Where is she?”

“My daughter is not well.”

“Well or ill, I shan’t keep her long.”

“My daughter has retired to her room.”

“Where is her room?”

Mrs. Presty moved to the fireplace, and laid her hand on the bell.

“Are you aware that this house is a hotel?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter to me what it is.”

“Oh yes, it does.  A hotel keeps waiters.  A hotel, when it is as large as this, has a policeman in attendance.  Must I ring?”

The choice between giving way to Mrs. Presty, or being disgracefully dismissed, was placed plainly before him.  Herbert’s life had been the life of a gentleman; he knew that he had forgotten himself; it was impossible that he could hesitate.

“I won’t trouble you to ring,” he said; “and I will beg your pardon for having allowed my temper to get the better of me.  At the same time it ought to be remembered, I think, in my favor, that I have had some provocation.”

“I don’t agree with you,” Mrs. Presty answered.  She was deaf to any appeal for mercy from Herbert Linley.  “As to provocation,” she added, returning to her chair without asking him to be seated, “when you apply that word to yourself, you insult my daughter and me. You provoked?  Oh, heavens!”

“You wouldn’t say that,” he urged, speaking with marked restraint of tone and manner, “if you knew what I have had to endure—­”

Mrs. Presty suddenly looked toward the door.  “Wait a minute,” she said; “I think I hear somebody coming in.”

In the silence that followed, footsteps were audible outside—­not approaching the door, however, but retiring from it.  Mrs. Presty had apparently been mistaken.  “Yes?” she said resignedly, permitting Herbert to proceed.