“Very well, I withdraw the ‘if.’” Sir Eustace spoke impatiently, not as one desiring reconciliation.  “You laid yourself open to it by accepting the position of ambassador.  I don’t know how you could seriously imagine that I would treat with you in that capacity.  If Dinah has anything to say to me, she must say it herself.”

“She will do so,” Scott spoke with steady assurance.  “But before you see her, I think I ought to tell you that her reason for wishing to be set free is not stage-fright or any childish nonsense of that kind; but simply the plain fact that her heart is not in the compact.  She has found out that she doesn’t love you enough.”

“She told you so?” demanded Sir Eustace.

Scott bent his head, for the first time averting his eyes from his brother’s face.  “Yes.”

“And she wished you to tell me?” There was a metallic ring in Sir Eustace’s voice; the red glare was gone from his eyes, they were cold and hard as a winter sky.

“Yes,” Scott said again, still not looking at him.

“And why?” The words fell brief and imperious, compelling in their incisiveness.

Scott’s eyes returned to his, almost in protest.  “I told her you ought to know,” he said.

“Then she would not have told me otherwise?”

“Possibly not.”

There fell another silence.  Sir Eustace looked hard and straight into the pale eyes, as though he would pierce to the soul behind.  But though Scott met the look unwavering, his soul was beyond all scrutiny.  There was something about him that baffled all search, something colossal that barred the way.  For the second time Sir Eustace realized himself to be at a disadvantage; haughtily he passed the matter by.

“In that case there is nothing further to be said.  You have fulfilled your somewhat rash undertaking, and that you have come out of the business with a whole skin is a bigger piece of luck than you deserved.  If Dinah wishes this matter to go any further, she must come to me herself.”

“Otherwise you will take no action?” Scott’s voice had its old somewhat weary intonation.  The animation seemed to have died out of him.

“Exactly.”  Sir Eustace answered him with equal deliberation.  “So far as you are concerned the incident is now closed.”

Scott took his hand from the door and moved slowly away.  “I have put the whole case before you,” he said.  “I think you clearly understand that if you are going to try and use force, I am bound—­as a friend—­to take her part against you.  She relies upon me for that, and—­I shall not disappoint her.  You see,” a hint of compassion sounded in his voice, “she has always been afraid of you; and she knows that I am not.”

Sir Eustace smiled cynically.  “Oh, you have always been ready to rush in!” he said.  “Doubtless your weakness is your strength.”

Scott met the gibe with tightened lips.  He made no attempt to reply to it.  “The only thing left,” he said quietly, “is for you to see her and hear what she has to say.  She is waiting in the conservatory.”