Mina's stock of discretion was threatened with complete consumption. From open denunciations she turned to mysterious hintings.
"I could bring him to reason if I liked," she said.
"What, make him fall in love with you?" cried Duplay, with a surprise not very complimentary.
"Oh no," she laughed; "better than that—by a great deal."
He eyed her closely: probably this was only another of her whimsical tricks, with which he was very familiar; if he showed too much interest she would laugh at him for being taken in. But she had hinted before to-day's annoyances; she was hinting again.
He had yawned at her hints till he became Harry Tristram's rival; he was ready to be eager now, if only he could be sure that they pointed to anything more than folly or delusion.
"Oh, my dear child," he exclaimed, "you mustn't talk nonsense. We mayn't like him, but what in the world could you do to him?"
"I don't want to hurt him, but I should like to make him sing small."
They had just reached the foot of the hill. Duplay waved his arm across the river toward the hall. Blent looked strong and stately.
"That's a big task, my dear," he said, recovering some of his good-humor at the sight of Mina's waspish little face. "I fancy it'll need a bigger man than you to make Tristram of Blent sing small." He laughed at her indulgently. "Or than me either, I'm afraid," he added, with a ruefulness that was not ill-tempered. "We must fight him in fair fight, that's all."