Julian burst out laughing bitterly.
"Send upstairs for my self-control," he said. "It's in _her_
possession--not in mine. Good morning, aunt."
He rose from his chair. Lady Janet instantly pushed him back into it.
"I insist on your staying here," she said, "if it is only for a few
minutes longer. I have something to say to you."
"Does it refer to Miss Roseberry?"
"It refers to the hateful woman who frightened Miss Roseberry. Now are
you satisfied?"
Julian bowed, and settled himself in his chair.
"I don't much like to acknowledge it," his aunt went on. "But I want you
to understand that I have something really serious to speak about,
for once in a way. Julian! that wretch not only frightens Grace--she
actually frightens me."
"Frightens you? She is quite harmless, poor thing."
"'Poor thing'!" repeated Lady Janet. "Did you say 'poor thing'?"
"Yes."
"Is it possible that you pity her?"
"From the bottom of my heart."
The old lady's temper gave way again at that reply. "I hate a man who
can't hate anybody!" she burst out. "If you had been an ancient Roman,
Julian, I believe you would have pitied Nero himself."
Julian cordially agreed with her. "I believe I should," he said,
quietly. "All sinners, my dear aunt, are more or less miserable sinners.
Nero must have been one of the wretchedest of mankind."
"Wretched!" exclaimed Lady Janet. "Nero wretched! A man who committed
robbery, arson and murder to his own violin accompaniment--_only_
wretched! What next, I wonder? When modern philanthropy begins to
apologize for Nero, modern philanthropy has arrived at a pretty pass
indeed! We shall hear next that Bloody Queen Mary was as playful as
a kitten; and if poor dear Henry the Eighth carried anything to an
extreme, it was the practice of the domestic virtues. Ah, how I hate
cant! What were we talking about just now? You wander from the subject,
Julian; you are what I call bird-witted. I protest I forget what I
wanted to say to you. No, I won't be reminded of it. I may be an old
woman, but I am not in my dotage yet! Why do you sit there staring? Have
you nothing to say for yourself? Of all the people in the world, have
_you_ lost the use of your tongue?"
Julian's excellent temper and accurate knowledge of his aunt's character
exactly fitted him to calm the rising storm. He contrived to lead Lady
Janet insensibly back to the lost subject by dexterous reference to
a narrative which he had thus far left untold--the narrative of his
adventures on the Continent.
"I have a great deal to say, aunt," he replied. "I have not yet told you
of my discoveries abroad."