Roland laughed scornfully.  ’Why Trieste?  I ask you, why Trieste?  You can’t have a Catholic priest at your bidding, without her father’s sanction.’

‘We leave Renee at Trieste, under the care of madame,’ said Beauchamp, ’and we return to Venice, and I go to your father.  This method protects Renee from annoyance.’

’It strikes me that if she arrives at any determination she must take the consequences.’

’She does.  She is brave enough for that.  But she is a girl; she has to fight the battle of her life in a day, and I am her lover, and she leaves it to me.’

‘Is my sister such a coward?’ said Roland.

Renee could only call out his name.

’It will never do, my dear Nevil; Roland tried to deal with his unreasonable friend affectionately.  ’I am responsible for her.  It’s your own fault—­if you had not saved my life I should not have been in your way.  Here I am, and your proposal can’t be heard of.  Do as you will, both of you, when you step ashore in Venice.’

‘If she goes back she is lost,’ said Beauchamp, and he attacked Roland on the side of his love for Renee, and for him.

Roland was inflexible.  Seeing which, Renee said, ’To Venice, quickly, my brother!’ and now she almost sighed with relief to think that she was escaping from this hurricane of a youth, who swept her off her feet and wrapt her whole being in a delirium.

‘We were in sight of the city just now!’ cried Roland, staring and frowning.  ‘What’s this?’

Beauchamp answered him calmly, ‘The boat’s under my orders.’

‘Talk madness, but don’t act it,’ said Roland.  ’Round with the boat at once.  Hundred devils! you haven’t your wits.’

To his amazement, Beauchamp refused to alter the boat’s present course.

‘You heard my sister?’ said Roland.

‘You frighten her,’ said Beauchamp.

‘You heard her wish to return to Venice, I say.’

‘She has no wish that is not mine.’

It came to Roland’s shouting his command to the men, while Beauchamp pointed the course on for them.

‘You will make this a ghastly pleasantry,’ said Roland.

‘I do what I know to be right,’ said Beauchamp.

‘You want an altercation before these fellows?’

‘There won’t be one; they obey me.’

Roland blinked rapidly in wrath and doubt of mind.

‘Madame,’ he stooped to Rosamund Culling, with a happy inspiration, ’convince him; you have known him longer than I, and I desire not to lose my friend.  And tell me, madame—­I can trust you to be truth itself, and you can see it is actually the time for truth to be spoken—­is he justified in taking my sister’s hand?  You perceive that I am obliged to appeal to you.  Is he not dependent on his uncle?  And is he not, therefore, in your opinion, bound in reason as well as in honour to wait for his uncle’s approbation before he undertakes to speak for my sister?  And, since the occasion is urgent, let me ask you one thing more:  whether, by your knowledge of his position, you think him entitled to presume to decide upon my sister’s destiny?  She, you are aware, is not so young but that she can speak for herself . . .’