though to bring himself thus to Scott's level.

Scott's eyes gleamed again momentarily at the action, but he stood like a
rock. "Yes, your intentions," he said briefly.

Sir Eustace's black brows went up, he looked him up and down. "Can you
give me any reason at all why I should hold myself answerable to you?" he
asked.

Scott's hands clenched as he stood. "I can," he said. "I regard Miss
Bathurst as very peculiarly our charge--under our protection. We are both
in a great measure responsible for her, though possibly--" he hesitated
slightly--"my responsibility is greater than yours, in so far as I take
it more seriously. I do not think that either of us is in a position to
make love to her under existing circumstances. But that, I admit, is
merely a matter of opinion. Most emphatically neither of us has the right
to trifle with her. I want to know--and I must know--are you trifling
with her, as you have trifled with Miss de Vigne for the past fortnight?
Or are you in earnest? Which?"

He spoke sternly, as one delivering an ultimatum. His eyes, steel-bright
and unwavering, were fixed upon his brother's face.

Sir Eustace made a sharp gesture, as of one who flings off some stinging
insect. "It is not particularly good form on your part to bring another
lady's name into the discussion," he said. "At least you have no
responsibilities so far as Miss de Vigne is concerned."

"I admit that," Scott answered shortly. "Moreover, she is fully capable
of taking care of herself. But Miss Bathurst is not. She is a mere child