ly. The next instant she broke
into her most malicious smile. "Tristram of Blent!" she repeated. "Oh
well----"

"Mina, dear, do you know you rather bore me? If you mean anything at
all----"

"I may mean what I like without telling you, I suppose?"

"Certainly--but don't ask me to listen."

"You think it's all nonsense?"

"I do, my dear," confessed the Major.

How far he spoke sincerely he himself could hardly tell. Perhaps he had
an alternative in his mind: if she meant nothing, she would hold her
peace and cease to weary him; if she meant anything real, his challenge
would bring it out. But for the moment she had fallen into thought.

"No, he doesn't fight fair," she repeated, as though to herself. She
glanced at her uncle in a hesitating, undecided way. "And he's
abominably rude," she went on, with a sudden return of pettishness.

The Major's shrug expressed an utter exhaustion of patience, a scornful
irritation, almost a contempt for her. She could not endure it; she must
justify herself, revenge herself at a blow on Harry for his rudeness and
on her uncle for his scepticism. The triumph would be sweet; she could
not for the moment think of any seriousness in what she did. She could
not keep her victory to herself; somebody else now must look on at
Harry's humiliation, at least must see that she had power to bring it
about. With the height of malicious exultation she looked up at Duplay
and said:

"Suppose he wasn't Tristram of Blent at all?"

Duplay stopped short where he stood--on the slope of the hill above
Blent itself.

"What? Is this more nonsense?"

"No, it isn't nonsense."

He looked at her steadily, almost severely. Under his regard her smile
disappeared; she grew uncomfortable.

"Then I must know more about it. Come, Mina, this is no trifle, you
know."

"I shan't tell you any more," she flashed out, in a last effort of
petulance.

"You must," he said calmly. "All you know, all you think. Come, we'll
have it out now at once."

She followed like a naughty child. She could have bitten her tongue out,
as the old phrase goes. Her feelings went round like a weather-cock; she
was ashamed of herself, sorry for Harry--yes, and afraid of Harry. And
she was afraid of Duplay too. She had run herself into something
serious--that she saw; something serious in which two resolute men were
involved. She did not know where it would end. But now she could not
resist. The youthful uncle seemed youthful