e saw the wisdom of her
remark.

"Men don't gossip over tea-cups. If they get drunk, there's an end of
them--they lie down comfortably and sleep it off. If they're vulgar,
they somehow keep it to themselves. It doesn't spread so. Give me a
man--of course, provided he's clean."

Sir Harry blushed. Neither he nor Cecil enjoyed these open compliments
to their sex. Even the exclusion of the dirty did not leave them much
distinction. He suggested that Mrs. Honeychurch, if she had time, should
descend from the carriage and inspect "Cissie" for herself. She was
delighted. Nature had intended her to be poor and to live in such a
house. Domestic arrangements always attracted her, especially when they
were on a small scale.

Cecil pulled Lucy back as she followed her mother.

"Mrs. Honeychurch," he said, "what if we two walk home and leave you?"

"Certainly!" was her cordial reply.

Sir Harry likewise seemed almost too glad to get rid of them. He beamed
at them knowingly, said, "Aha! young people, young people!" and then
hastened to unlock the house.

"Hopeless vulgarian!" exclaimed Cecil, almost before they were out of
earshot.

"Oh, Cecil!"

"I can't help it. It would be wrong not to loathe that man."

"He isn't clever, but really he is nice."

"No, Lucy, he stands for all that is bad in country life. In London he
would keep his place. He would belong to a brainless club, and his wife
would give brainless dinner parties. But down here he acts the little
god with his gentility, and his patronage, and his sham aesthetics, and
every one--even your mother--is taken in."

"All that you say is quite true," said Lucy, though she felt
discouraged. "I wonder whether--whether it matters so very much."

"It matters supremely. Sir Harry is the essence of that garden-party.
Oh, goodness, how cross I feel! How I do hope he'll get some vulgar
tenant in that villa--some woman so really vulgar that he'll notice
it. GENTLEFOLKS! Ugh! with his bald head and retreating chin! But let's
forget him."

This Lucy was glad enough to do. If Cecil disliked Sir Harry Otway and
Mr. Beebe, what guarantee was there that the people who really mattered
to her would escape? For instance, Freddy. Freddy was neither clever,
nor subtle, nor beautiful, and what prevented Cecil from saying, any
minute, "It would be wrong not to loathe Freddy"? And what would she
reply? Further than Freddy she did not go, but he gave her anxiety
enough. She could on