“Good Lord! You know, ’Lisbeth, that attitude’s awfully Victorian. Artificial and insincere. You’re not a Victorian.”

“Isn’t it nice to be one?”

“No. Of course it isn’t. Not in that way.”

“I suppose Aunt Anne’s Victorian, though?”

“Out and out.”

She was up in arms at once.

“You speak as though you don’t like my aunt.”

“Rot! I like her very much—parts of her. I don’t like some things about her, naturally.”

“Naturally?”

“Hang it all, darling, you probably don’t like some things about my mother!”

“I like your mother very much. And anyway I shouldn’t say I didn’t to you.”

“Wouldn’t you? Why not?”

She thought him extraordinary; she had never imagined that he would be so difficult to understand.

“It wouldn’t be polite—or considerate to your feelings.”

“But, Elizabeth my dear, there’s no such thing as that kind of politeness between husband and wife! If there is you’re building up a barrier between us.”

“How can you say such a thing? Of course I’m not!”

“Of course you are. Tell me now, do you like Cynthia?”

“I—I hardly know her.”

He pulled her on to his knees, where she sat stiffly, ill-at-ease.

“Say right out that you don’t, you little humbug!”

She winced at that, and her eyes filled with tears. It was as though Mr. Hengist had spoken.

“If you think—that—of me—!”

He was remorseful at once, and petted her back to happiness. When she smiled again he reverted to the discussion of his affairs, telling her what he proposed to settle on her for her private use. She did not like that; it seemed wrong, and she tried to protest.

“But, Stephen, I’ve—I’ve got quite a lot of money of my own. You know I have—from my mother.”

“I want you to use my money, beloved.”

“It—it isn’t necessary! I’d rather—” She stopped, seeing the look of hurt steal into his face. “Are you sure you can afford it?” she ended lamely.

That delighted him; he roared with laughter, and thought her adorable.