As soon as he had left, Tilliard burst in, white with agitation,
and crying, "Did you see my awful faux pas--about the horsewhip?
What shall I do? I must call on Elliot. Or had I better write?"

"Miss Pembroke will not mind," said Ansell gravely. "She is
unconventional." He knelt in an arm-chair and hid his face in the
back.

"It was like a bomb," said Tilliard.

"It was meant to be."

"I do feel a fool. What must she think?"

"Never mind, Tilliard. You've not been as big a fool as myself.
At all events, you told her he must be horsewhipped."

Tilliard hummed a little tune. He hated anything nasty, and there
was nastiness in Ansell. "What did you tell her?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"What do you think of it?"

"I think: Damn those women."

"Ah, yes. One hates one's friends to get engaged. It makes one
feel so old: I think that is one of the reasons. The brother just
above me has lately married, and my sister was quite sick about