"Like it?"
"Yes. You must own it's flattering. People here wouldn't take the trouble to talk if I were nobody. London isn't Oxford."
"No; you may do many things in Oxford which you mayn't do in London. But times have changed. I can't imagine your dear mother saying she would 'like' to be talked about."
"Please don't speak about mother in that way; you know I never could bear it. Oh, there's a ring at the front door! That's Ted." She stood on tiptoe, bending forward, and held her ear to the half-open door. "No, it isn't; it's some wretched visitor. Don't keep me, Cousin Bella, or I shall be caught."
"Really, Audrey, now we are on the subject, I must just tell you that your conduct lately has given me a great deal of anxiety."
"My conduct! What do you mean? I haven't broken any of the seven commandments. (Thank goodness, they've gone!)"
"I mean that if you don't take care you'll be entangling yourself with young Mr. Haviland, as you did——"
"As I did with Vincent, I suppose. That is so like you. You're always thinking things, always putting that and that together, and doing it quite wrong. You were hopelessly out of it about Vincent. Whether you're wrong or right about Mr. Haviland, I simply shan't condescend to tell you." And having lashed herself into a state of indignation, Audrey went on warmly—"I'm not a child of ten. I won't have my actions criticised. I won't have my motives spied into. I won't be ruled by your miserable middle-class, provincial standard. What I do is nobody's business but my own."
"Very well, very well; go your own way, and take the consequences. If it's not my business, don't blame me when you get into difficulties."
Audrey turned round with a withering glance.