He was frowning a little, and asked abruptly: “Does he subject you to that sort of Turkish treatment, Mama?”

“Oh, no, never! To be sure, he does sometimes scold me, but he has never thrown anything at me—not even when I ventured to suggest that he should add some rhubarb and water to his port, which is an excellent remedy for a deranged stomach, you know, but he would have none of it. In fact, it put him into a regular flame.”

“I’m not surprised!” said the Viscount, laughing at her. “You almost deserved to have it thrown at you, I think!”

“Yes, that’s what he said, but he didn’t throw it at me. He burst out laughing, just as you did. What made him suddenly so vexed, dearest? Did you say something to make him pucker up? I know you haven’t done anything to displease him, for he was delighted to see you. Indeed, that is why we had the dressed crab, and he made Pedmore bring up the best port.”

“Good God, in my honour, was it? Of course, I dared not tell him so, but I’m not at all fond of port, and I had to drink the deuce of a lot of it. As for what vexed him, it was certainly nothing I said, for not an unwise word passed my lips! I can only suppose that the crab and the port were responsible.” He paused, thinking of what had passed in the library, the frown returning to his brow. He turned his eyes towards his mother, and said slowly: “And yet—Mama, what made him hark back, after all this time, to the match he tried to make between Hetta and me, when I was twenty?”

“Oh, did he do so? How unfortunate!”

“But why did he, Mama? He hasn’t spoken of it for years!”

“No, and that is what one particularly likes about him. He has a shockingly quick temper, but he never sinks into the mopes, or rubs up old sores. The thing is, I fear, that it has all been brought back to his mind because he has been told that at last dear Henrietta seems likely to contract a very eligible alliance.”