‘Really! I am sorry to hear it, as that leaves no valid excuse for your behaviour. But I am tired; and, frankly, I can’t admit any right on your part to keep me here listening first to nonsense, and then to incivility. Good-night, Mr. Brownlow. I do not know how long you propose to stay, so good-bye, too—in case, which is possible, I do not see you again. And now, George, be good enough to open the door for me.’
From all which I derived the conviction that, for once, her ladyship had pretty thoroughly lost her temper. Then, as Hartover did not move:
‘My dear George, do you hear? Even if you unfortunately have no love for your mother, you may still pay some respect, some ordinary courtesy towards your father’s wife.’
‘For my father’s wife I have all possible respect,’ he began.
My lady’s dark eyebrows went up until they nearly met her fair hair.
‘Indeed! You have a most original fashion of showing it!’
‘But—for I, too, can issue a warning—I have very little of either for my cousin Jack Esdaile’s mistress.’
An instant of stupefaction.
Then: ‘How dare you! How dare you!’ Lady Longmoor stormed.
She took a couple of steps forward, with the intention, I verily believe, of boxing Hartover’s ears soundly. But he was too adroit for her. Catching her by both hands, he held them—not roughly, but with a gallant, if naughty grace, vastly engaging. Some colour had come into his face. His eyes and lips laughed saucily.