ond a feeble "Oh,
well, because he is."

"If he's been a cad to her--" muttered Killigrew, vengefully.

"I don't know how he can have been; she's only seen him with us. But I
don't know what you'd do about it if he had; you can't lick him; he's
twice your size and weight."

"Would you never fight unless you were sure of winning?" demanded
Killigrew scornfully. Ishmael thought a minute.

"I think it is that I never fight until I'm sure of winning," he said at
last; "if I found I wasn't strong enough I wouldn't go in and be beaten;
I'd train hard till I was and then fight."

"But that might take ages and you'd forget what you wanted to fight the
chap about."

"I don't think I'd forget, if I'd wanted to fight him. I might, though,
I suppose...."

"You're all wrong, you know," opined Killigrew; "'tisn't the winning
that really matters ... sounds silly, but I don't know how to explain
it."

"Sounds like something the Parson would say--my Parson," said Ishmael on
one of his flashes of intuition; and then they both laughed, for
Killigrew was one of those rare creatures, a born pagan--or rather
heathen, which is not quite the same thing. The pagan has beliefs of his
own; the true heathen denies the need for any, through sheer lack of
interest.

"D'you think girls are so very different from us ...?" went on Killigrew
after a moment's silence. "The sort of things they really want to do and
think about?"

"Girls are quite different," said Ishmael firmly; "they talk awful rot;
I've heard my sister and Phoebe--that's a girl at home."

"Yes, so does my sister--at least, she talks sort of clever stuff
that's as bad. But how about Hilaria?" asked her admirer.

"Well, she's more sensible than most, because she wants to do things as
though she weren't a girl, but I don't see how she's going to keep it
up. She'll fall in love and then it'll all be over."

"You don't think much of girls, do you?"

"Oh, well ... they're all right, I suppose. I want to do things, and
girls want to feel things. Oh, yes, Bunny, they're awfully different."

"From you, perhaps ... I dunno ... I say, d'you really want the old
bishop to lay his paws on your head?"

"Yes," replied Ishmael, briefly.

"Well, so does Hilaria. She read me some stuff out of a book--ripping
fine stuff it was--by a chap called Mallory. All about knights that were
searching for a cup they thought had the blood of God in it or something
of the sort. But she seemed to