“Why, yes,” she agreed; “and whatever Mr. Wilding's manner, if I know him at all, it would be nothing but respectful to the last degree.”      

       “My own conception of respect,” said he, “is not to bandy a lady's name about a company of revellers.”      

       “Bethink you, though, you said just now, it all depended on the manner,”        she rejoined. Sir Rowland shrugged and turned half from her to her listening cousin. When all is said, poor Diana appears—despite her cunning—to have been short-sighted. Aiming at a defined advantage in the game she played, she either ignored or held too lightly the concomitant disadvantage of vexing Blake.     

       “It were perhaps best to tell us the exact words he used, Sir Rowland,”        she suggested, “that for ourselves we may judge how far he lacked respect.”      

       “What signify the words!” cried Blake, now almost out of temper. “I don't recall them. It is the air with which he pledged Mistress Westmacott.”      

       “Ah yes—the manner,” quoth Diana irritatingly. “We'll let that be. Richard threw his wine in Mr. Wilding's face? What followed then? What said Mr. Wilding?”      

       Sir Rowland remembered what Mr. Wilding had said, and bethought him that it were impolitic in him to repeat it. At the same time, not having looked for this cross-questioning, he was all unprepared with any likely answer. He hesitated, until Ruth echoed Diana's question.     

       “Tell us, Sir Rowland,” she begged him, “what Mr. Wilding said.”      

       Being forced to say something, and being by nature slow-witted and sluggish of invention, Sir Rowland was compelled, to his unspeakable chagrin, to fall back upon the truth.     

       “Is not that proof?” cried Diana in triumph. “Mr. Wilding was reluctant to quarrel with Richard. He was even ready to swallow such an affront as that, thinking it might be offered him under a misconception of his meaning. He plainly professed the respect that filled him for Mistress Westmacott, and yet, and yet, Sir Rowland, you tell us that he lacked respect!”      

       “Madam,” cried Blake, turning crimson, “that matters nothing. It was not the place or time 

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