“Clara,” she remarked, “does not like to be kept waiting.”

“She is not down yet,” he answered, “and there is something I want to say to you.”

Her delicate eyebrows were a trifle uplifted.

“Do you think that you had better?” she asked.

“I am a man,” he said, “and things are known to me which a woman would scarcely discover.  Do you think that it is quite fair to send Lady Redford out motoring with Mrs. Mannering?”

“Why not?”

“Lady Redford is, of course, ignorant of Mrs. Mannering’s antecedents.  What you may do yourself concerns no one.  You make your own social laws, and you have a right to.  But I do not think that even you have a right to pass Blanche Phillimore on to your friends, even under the shelter of Mannering’s name.”

Berenice looked at him for several seconds without speaking.  Borrowdean bit his lip.

“If we were not acquaintances of long standing, Sir Leslie,” she said, calmly, “I should consider your remarks impertinent.  As it is, I choose to look upon them as a regrettable mistake.  The person, whoever she may be, whom the Duchess of Lenchester chooses to receive is usually acceptable to her friends.  I beg that you will not refer to the subject again.”

Sir Leslie bowed.

“I have no more to say,” he declared.  “Knowing naturally a good deal more than you concerning the lady in question, I considered it my duty to say what I have said.”

“It is the sort of duty,” Berenice murmured, “which the whole world seems to accept always with a relish.  One does not expect it so much from your sex.  Mrs. Mannering was born one of us, and she has had an unhappy life.  If she has been indiscreet she has her excuses.  I choose to whitewash her.  Do you understand?  I pay dearly enough for my social position, and I certainly claim its privileges.  I recognize Mrs. Mannering, and I require my friends to do so.”

Sir Leslie rose up.

“You are, if you will forgive my saying so,” he remarked, drily, “more generous than wise.”

“That,” she answered, “is my affair.  Here comes Clara.  Before you start, find Mr. Mannering.  He is in the hotel somewhere writing letters, and tell him that when he has finished I wish to speak to him.”

Sir Leslie only bowed.  He felt himself opposed by a will as strong as his own, and he was too seriously annoyed to trust himself to speech.  Clara, in her cool white linen dress, came strolling up.

“What have you been doing to Sir Leslie?” she asked, laughing.  “He has just gone into the hotel with a face like a thunder-cloud.”

“I have been giving him a lesson in Christian charity,” Berenice answered.  “He needs it.”

Clara nodded.  She understood.

“I think you are awfully kind,” she said.

Berenice smiled.

“I hate all narrowness,” she said, “and if there is a man on God’s earth who deserves to have people kind to him it is your uncle.”