“Well, I suppose they did,” she replied with a laugh.  “Besides, didn’t you see the car?  I motored over this morning.  That reminds me—­” She played with self-possession, it came so easily to her.  “That reminds me.  Garrett wants a clean collar.  Did you see Garrett?”

“Yes.”

“Well, did you ever see such a filthy collar as he’s wearing in all your life?”

“I don’t know—­” He crushed her flippancy with the tone in his voice, the look in his eyes.  “I don’t go about looking at other people’s linen.”

“No, but you’d have to if you sat behind Garrett as I did this morning for something over an hour.  You couldn’t help noticing it.”

“Well, you can’t expect a servant to be clean, can you?” he retorted.  “If he hides his uncleanliness that’s all you can demand of him.”

She broke into a light, ringing laugh at his ironical humour; but he took no notice of that.

“Where were you two going?” he added.  He addressed the question to Sally, turning his eyes to hers.

Mrs. Durlacher interposed the answer.  “I was going to show Miss Bishop round the house before lunch,” she said.  “I thought you might show her the grounds afterwards.”

“She’s much too tired to go tramping round the place before lunch,” said Traill, abruptly.  “Remember we’ve just been bumped down from Town—­Trafalgar Square—­in a jolting taxi.  No, she’s too tired.  She’d better go and take off her hat, I think.  Where’s Taylor?” He moved towards the bell.  “Taylor had better take her up to the Elizabeth room, or your room if you don’t mind.”

The outline of Mrs. Durlacher’s lips tightened; but Traill took no notice.  He turned to Sally.  “Like to lay your hat on the spot where her gracious Majesty was supposed to have rested a weary head, aching with finance?” he asked.

Sally smiled.  Admiration for him then was intense.  Mrs. Durlacher smiled as well; but for one instant, she winced first.

“Let me do the honours, Jack, please,” she said sweetly, “at any rate in my own house.”

That was a foolish thing to have said—­the first false step she had taken.  But so far in the encounter, she knew she was losing, and it takes a greater woman than she to play a losing game.  In the first clash of weapons, she had been well-nigh disarmed, and the sting of the steel in her loosened grip had touched her to that momentary loss of control.  It was not so much the fact that she had spoken of Apsley as her house.  That piece of boasting would have fallen from Traill’s shoulders, shaken off by the shrug with which he would have taken it.  It was the veiled insult to Sally, the ill-concealed suggestion as to what their relations had been when she had met Sally at the rooms in Regent Street, that whipped him to reply.

He rang the bell imperturbably.  That little action, occupying the brief moment that it did, gave him ease to temper his feelings; then he turned.