Lady Blixworth put up her long-handled pince-nez and regarded him through it.
'She hasn't quite cut me, you see,' he went on.
'I beg your pardon, Chance, may I have a word with you?' Mervyn came up and joined them.
Lady Blixworth leant back and looked at the pair. She had never thought Mervyn a genius, and she was very tolerant; yet she had at that moment the fullest possible realisation of the difference between the two: it was between barbarism and civilisation. Both might be stupid, both might on occasion be cruel. But there was the profound difference of method.
'A word with me, Mervyn? Of course.'
'By ourselves, I mean.' His stiffness vigorously refused the approaches of Beaufort's familiarity.
'Oh, all right, by ourselves,' agreed Beaufort with a contemptuous laugh.
Lady Blixworth decided not to indulge her humour any longer; she was distrustful of what might happen.
'You can have your talk any time,' she said, rising. She spoke carelessly, but she knew how to assert her right to social command in her own house. 'Just now I want Mortimer to take me to have something cool. Good-night, Beaufort.' She gave him her hand. He took it, not seeing what else to do. Mervyn had fallen back a step as his bow acknowledged the hostess's command.
'Good-night, Beaufort,' said Lady Blixworth, smiling again.