had of being a good-natured but dissipated boy; with
his small stature, his smooth, fat, suffused face, his round, watery,
light-coloured eyes and his hair growing in curious infantile rings. He
had lost one of his front teeth and always wore a stiff white scarf,
with a pin representing some symbol of the turf or the chase. 'I don't
see why _she_ couldn't have been a little more like you. If I could have
had a shot at you first!'

'I don't care for any compliments at my sister's expense,' Laura said,
with some majesty.

'Oh I say, Laura, don't put on so many frills, as Selina says. You know
what your sister is as well as I do!' They stood looking at each other a
moment and he appeared to see something in her face which led him to
add--'You know, at any rate, how little we hit it off.'

'I know you don't love each other--it's too dreadful.'

'Love each other? she hates me as she'd hate a hump on her back. She'd
do me any devilish turn she could. There isn't a feeling of loathing
that she doesn't have for me! She'd like to stamp on me and hear me
crack, like a black beetle, and she never opens her mouth but she
insults me.' Lionel Berrington delivered himself of these assertions
without violence, without passion or the sting of a new discovery; there
was a familiar gaiety in his trivial little tone and he had the air of
being so sure of what he said that he did not need to exaggerate in
order to prove enough.

'Oh, Lionel!' the girl murmured, turning pale. 'Is that the particular
thing you wished to say to me?'

'And you can't say it's my fault--you won't pretend to do that, will
you?' he went on. 'Ain't I quiet, ain't I kind, don't I go steady?
Haven't I given her every blessed thing she has ever asked for?'

'You haven't given her an example!' Laura replied, with spirit. 'You
don't care for anything in the wide world but to amuse yourself, from
the beginning of the year to the end. No more does she--and perhaps it's
even worse in a woman. You are both as selfish as you can live, with
nothing in your head or your heart but your vulgar pleasure, incapable
of a concession, incapable of a sacrifice!' She at least spoke with
passion; something that had been pent up in her soul broke out and it
gave her relief, almost a momentary joy.

It made Lionel Berrington stare; he coloured, but after a moment he
threw back his head with laughter. 'Don't you call me kind when I stand
here and take all that? If I'm so keen for