"Well, you can go on contemplating it, can't you, uncle? It won't do much good, but still——"
"The situation, I say, has arisen." She heard him get up, walk to the hearth-rug, and strike a match. Of course he was going to have a cigarette! He would smoke it all through with exasperating slowness and then arrive at an odious conclusion. Mina had not been married for nothing; she knew men's ways. He justified her forecast; it was minutes before he spoke again.
"The terms of this letter," he resumed at last, "fortify me in my purpose. It is evident that Miss Iver is influenced—largely influenced—by—er—the supposed position of—er—Mr Tristram."
"Of who?"
"Of the present possessor of Blent."
"If you want people to know who you mean, you'd better say Lord Tristram."
"For the present, if you wish it. I say, she is——" Duplay's pompous formality suddenly broke down. "She's taking him for his title, that's all."
"Oh, if you choose to say things like that about your friends!"
"You know it's true. What becomes my duty then?"