Nan had become cool and sarcastic—­her nastiest, most dangerous manner.

“Do you think you would care to be a little more explicit, mother?  I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.  What is it no use my denying? What do you know?”

Mrs. Hilary gathered herself together.  Her head trembled and jerked with emotion; wisps of her hair, tousled by the night, escaped over her collar.  She spoke tremulously, tensely, her hands wrung together.

“That you are going on with a married man.  That you are his mistress,” she said, putting it at its crudest, since Nan wanted plain speaking.

Nan sat quite still, smoking.  The silence thrilled with Mrs. Hilary’s passion.

“I see,” Nan said at last.  “And it’s no use my denying it.  In that case I won’t.”  Her voice was smooth and clear and still, like cold water.  “You know the man’s name too, I presume?”

“Of course.  Everyone knows it.  I tell you, Nan, everyone’s talking of you and him.  A town topic, Rosalind calls it.”

“Rosalind would.  Town must be very dull just now, if that’s all they have to talk of.”

“But it’s not the scandal I’m thinking of,” Mrs. Hilary went on, “though, God knows, that’s bad enough—­I’m thankful Father died when he did and was spared it—­but the thing itself.  The awful, awful thing itself.  Have you no shame, Nan?”

“Not much.”

“For all our sakes.  Not for mine—­I know you don’t care a rap for that—­but for Neville, whom you do profess to love....”

“I should think we might leave Neville out of it.  She’s shown no signs of believing any story about me.”

“Well, she does believe it, you may depend upon it.  No one could help it.  People write from here saying it’s an open fact.”

“People here can’t have much to put in their letters.”

“Oh, they’ll make room for gossip.  People always will.  Always.  But I’m not going to dwell on that side of things, because I know you don’t care what anyone says.  It’s the wrongness of it....  A married man....  Even if his wife divorces him!  It would be in the papers....  And if she doesn’t you can’t ever marry him....  Do you care for the man?”

“What man?”

“Don’t quibble.  Stephen Lumley, of course.”

“Stephen Lumley is a friend of mine.  I’m fond of him.”

“I don’t believe you do love him.  I believe it’s all recklessness and perversity.  Lawlessness.  That’s what Mr. Cradock said.”

“Mr. Cradock?” Nan’s eyebrows went up.

Mrs. Hilary flushed a brighter scarlet.  The colour kept running over her face and going back again, all the time she was talking.

“Your psycho-analyst doctor,” said Nan, and her voice was a little harder and cooler than before.  “I suppose you had an interesting conversation with him about me.”

“I have to tell him everything,” Mrs. Hilary stammered.  “It’s part of the course.  I did consult him about you.  I’m not ashamed of it.  He understands about these things.  He’s not an ordinary man.”