‘And yet, as I hear, you have made your mark in literature?’
‘Who says that? I should not.’
‘Never mind,’ she rejoined, with, as I fancied, the look of having said more than she ought. ‘But,’ she added, ‘I wish you would tell me in what periodicals you write.’
‘You must excuse me. I do not wish to be first known in connection with fugitive things. When first I publish a book, you may be assured my name will be on the title-page. Meantime, I must fulfil the conditions of my entrée.’
‘And I must go and pay my respects to Lady Brotherton. I have only just arrived.’
‘Won’t you find it dull? There’s nobody of man-kind at home but Sir Giles.’
‘You are unjust. If Mr Brotherton had been here, I shouldn’t have come. I find him troublesome.’
I thought she blushed, notwithstanding the air of freedom with which she spoke.
‘If he should come into the property to-morrow,’ she went on, ‘I fear you would have little chance of completing your work.’
‘If he came into the property this day six months, I fear he would find it unfinished. Certainly what was to do should remain undone.’