"Not in this family," said Courtney, cold and calm, her slim fingers touching her hair here and there.
"All I've got to say is, it's no wonder Gallatin's becoming useless at the shop. He must feel his position acutely. I can conceive of no reason why you should subject a gentleman—and my guest—to such indignity."
Courtney looked as if she were sitting quietly alone.
"Has he been making love to you?" demanded Vaughan.
Her eyelids fluttered, but it was the only sign she gave.
"Some time ago I observed he had a way of looking at you that was most loverlike."
Still no answer, and no sign.
"Even so, you could deal with him tactfully. He is a gentleman."
"You said that before," observed she, elbows on the table, her chin on the backs of her intertwined fingers, her gaze upon the bowl of old-fashioned yellow roses in the center of the table.
He glowered at her. "So I did," said he. "Now I say it again, and perhaps you will be able to grasp it. And I want you to treat him as a gentleman should be treated. So long as he is my guest, so long as he conducts himself like a gentleman, you must be courteous to him."