“Yes.”

“And that you have received him, also—­as you have received Lord Westholt?”

“Quite.”

“Then I must discuss the matter with Rosalie.  It is not to be discussed with you.”

“You mean that you will exercise your authority in the matter?”

“In England, my dear girl, the master of a house is still sometimes guilty of exercising authority in matters which concern the reputation of his female relatives.  In the absence of your father, I shall not allow you, while you are under my roof, to endanger your name in any degree.  I am, at least, your brother by marriage.  I intend to protect you.”

“Thank you,” said Betty.

“You are young and extremely handsome, you will have an enormous fortune, and you have evidently had your own way all your life.  A girl, such as you are, may either make a magnificent marriage or a ridiculous and humiliating one.  Neither American young women, nor English young men, are as disinterested as they were some years ago.  Each has begun to learn what the other has to give.”

“I think that is true,” commented Betty.

“In some cases there is a good deal to be exchanged on both sides.  You have a great deal to give, and should get exchange worth accepting.  A beggared estate and a tainted title are not good enough.”

“That is businesslike,” Betty made comment again.

Sir Nigel laughed quietly.

“The fact is—­I hope you won’t misunderstand my saying it—­you do not strike me as being un-businesslike, yourself.”

“I am not,” answered Betty.

“I thought not,” rather narrowing his eyes as he watched her, because he believed that she must involuntarily show her hand if he irritated her sufficiently.  “You do not impress me as being one of the girls who make unsuccessful marriages.  You are a modern New York beauty—­not an early Victorian sentimentalist.”  He did not despair of results from his process of irritation.  To gently but steadily convey to a beautiful and spirited young creature that no man could approach her without ulterior motive was rather a good idea.  If one could make it clear—­with a casual air of sensibly taking it for granted—­that the natural power of youth, wit, and beauty were rendered impotent by a greatness of fortune whose proportions obliterated all else; if one simply argued from the premise that young love was no affair of hers, since she must always be regarded as a gilded chattel, whose cost was writ large in plain figures, what girl, with blood in her veins, could endure it long without wincing?  This girl had undue, and, as he regarded such matters, unseemly control over her temper and her nerves, but she had blood enough in her veins, and presently she would say or do something which would give him a lead.

“When you marry——­” he began.

She lifted her head delicately, but ended the sentence for him with eyes which were actually not unsmiling.