“Well, I don’t, as it happens.  But you needn’t have anything to do with them; not, at least, while she’s living in their house.”

“It was in the Hannays’ house I met her.  But I’m not thinking of myself.”

“I’m thinking of you, and of nothing else.”

“You needn’t,” said she, cold to his warmth.  “I can take care of myself.  It’s you I’m thinking of.”

“Me?  Why me?”

“Because I’m your wife and have a right to.  It’s out of the question that I should call on Mrs. Hannay or receive her calls.  I must also beg of you to give up going there, and to the Ransomes, and to every place where you will be brought into contact with Lady Cayley.”

He stared at her in amazement.  “My dear girl, you don’t expect me to cut the Ransomes because she isn’t brute enough to turn her sister out of doors?”

“I expect you to give up going to them, and to the Hannays, as long as Lady Cayley is in Scale.  Promise me.”

“I can’t promise you anything of the sort.  Heaven knows how long she’s going to stay.”

“I ought not to have to explain that by countenancing her you insult me.  You should see it for yourself.”

“I can’t see it.  In the first place, with all due regard to you, I don’t insult you by countenancing her, as you call it.  In the second place, I don’t countenance her by going into other people’s houses.  If I went into her house, you might complain.  She hasn’t got a house, poor lady.”

She ignored his pity.  “In spite of your regard for me, then, you will continue to meet her?”

“I shan’t if I can help it.  But if I must, I must.  I can’t be rude to people.”

“You can be firm.”

He laughed.  “What have I got to be firm about?”

“Not meeting her.”

“What if I do meet her?  I sincerely hope I shan’t; but what if I do?”

Her mouth trembled; her eyes filled with tears.  He sprang up and leaned over her, resting his arms on the back of her chair, bringing his face close to hers and smiling into her eyes.

“No—­no—­no!” She drew back her head and shrank away from him.  He put out his hand and turned her face to him, gazing into her eyes, as if for the first time he saw and could fathom the sorrow and the fear in them.

“What if I do?” he repeated.

She tried to push his hand from her, but she could not.

“You stupid child,” he said, “do you mean to say that you’re still afraid of that?”

“It’s you who have made me—­”

“My sweetheart—­”

“No, no.  Don’t touch me.”

“What do you mean?” he asked gravely, still leaning over and looking down at her.

“I mean—­I mean—­I can’t bear it!” she cried, gasping for breath under the oppression of his nearness.

He realised her repugnance, and removed himself.

“Do you mean,” he said, “because of her?”

“Yes,” she said, “because of her.”