Yes, he was not to escape, not to forget. That day one scene more awaited him which rose out of Blent and belonged to Blent. The Imp made an appointment by telegram, and the Imp came. Harry could no longer regard his bachelor-chambers as any barrier against the incursions of excited young women. Anything that concerned the Tristrams seemed naturally antipathetic to conventions. He surrendered and let Mina in; that he wanted to see her—her for want of a better—was not recognized by him. She was in a great temper, and he was soon inclined to regret his accessibility. Still he endured; for it was an absolutely final interview, she said. She had just come to tell him what she thought of him—and there was an end of it. Then she was going back to Merrion and she hoped
Cecily was coming with her. He—Harry—would not be there anyhow!
"Certainly not," he agreed. "But what's the matter, Madame Zabriska? You don't complain that I didn't accept—that I couldn't fall in with my cousin's peculiar ideas?"
"Oh, you can't get out of it like that! You know that isn't the point."
"What in the world is then?" cried Harry. "There's nothing else the matter, is there?"
Mina could hardly sit still for rage; she was on pins.
"Nothing else?" She gathered herself together for the attack. "What did you take her to dinner and to the theatre for? What did you bring her home for?"
"I wanted to be friendly. I wanted to soften what I had to say."
"To soften it! Not you! Shall I tell you what you wanted, Mr Tristram? Sometimes men seem to know so little about themselves!"
"If you'll philosophize on the subject of men—about which you know a lot, of course—I'll listen with pleasure."