which, with his play-acting and lordly airs, he seemed to think it was he who was conferring the honour. Just impudence! Poor misguided Connie, in the man's clutches!
The three ate in silence. Hilda looked to see what his table manners were like. She could not help realizing that he was instinctively much more delicate and well-bred than herself. She had a certain Scottish clumsiness. And moreover, he had all the quiet selfcontained assurance of the English, no loose edges. It would be very difficult to get the better of him.
But neither would he get the better of her.
"And do you really think," she said, a little more humanly, "it's worth the risk."
"Is what worth what risk?"
"This escapade with my sister."
He flickered his irritating grin.
"Yo' maun ax 'er!"
Then he looked at Connie.
"Tha comes o' thine own accord, lass, doesn't ter? It's non me as forces thee?"
Connie looked at Hilda.
"I wish you wouldn't cavil, Hilda."
"Naturally I don't want to. But someone has to think about things. You've got to have some of continuity in your life. You can't just go making a mess."
There was a moment's pause.
"Eh, continuity!" he said. "An' what by that? What continuity 'ave yer got i' your life? I thought you was gettin' divorced. What continuity's that? Continuity o' yer own stubbornness. I can see that much. An' what good's it goin' to do yer? Yo'll be sick o' yer continuity afore yer a fat sight older. A stubborn woman an' 'er own self-will: ay, they make a fat continuity, they do. Thank heaven, it isn't me as 'as got th' andlin' of yer!"
"What right have you to speak like that to me?" said Hilda.
"Right! What right ha' yo' ter start harnessin' other folks i' your Continuity? Leave folks to their own continuities."
"My dear man, do you think I am concerned with you?" said Hilda softly.
"Ay," he said. "Yo' are. For it's a force-put. Yo' more or less my sister-in-law."
