"Well, have you taught her how bad it is?"
"I think I have," said Perior, looking over Camelia's head at the open doorway. She stood aside to let him join her.
"What have you to teach me this morning--_caballero de la triste figura_?" she said as he came down the stairs and stood beside her.
"I don't propose to teach you anything. I am not responsible for you."
Camelia had not analyzed his probable mood incorrectly; he was angry, and he was trying to hide his anger, fearing for his self-control. But more than that--though this the acute Camelia had never quite divined--he was feeling very unhappy. That he was angry she saw, however, with a little thrill of triumph running through her veins. Smiling an even smile she said, slipping her hand through his arm--
"Ah! but you _are_ responsible. Come into the morning-room."
"Is Lady Paton there?" Perior asked gloomily.
"Yes." Camelia had seen her mother and Mary walking safely away into the garden with Gwendolen Holt and Lady Tramley. She threw open the door and ushered him in.
Perior surveyed the emptiness; it hardly surprised him, and well understanding her determination to wheedle him, he felt an added strength of determination not to be wheedled.
"What have you got to say, now that you've got me here?" he asked, putting down his music and looking at her.
"You bandersnatch!" Camelia still held his arm. "I am sure you look like a bandersnatch; a biting, snarling creature. You have a truly _snatching_ way of speaking."
"What have you got to say, Camelia?" Perior repeated, withdrawing his arm from the circling clasp upon it.
"I have got to say that you must stay to lunch."
"Then you may sit down and talk to me a little--scold me if you like; do you feel like scolding me?"
"I have never scolded you, Camelia," said Perior, knowing that before her lightness his solemnity showed to disadvantage; but he would be nothing but solemn, ludicrously solemn if necessary.
"You were never sure I deserved it, then," said Camelia, stooping to gather up her dog for a swift kiss, and laughing over his round head at Perior's stiffness; "else you would have done your duty, I am sure--you never forget your duty."
"Thanks; your recognition is flattering."
"There, my pet, go--poor Sir Arthur is lonely, go to him," said Camelia, opening the window for Siegfried's exit, "you know your sarcasm doesn't impress me one bit--not one bit," she added.