u have really made up your mind so trivial
an accident will not stop you. It may even be your duty to show that you
attach no superstitious importance to it. And, on the other hand, if
chance favors you, some of your burden of responsibility is transferred
to the shoulders of Fate.

So Bertie smiled, pocketed his half-crown, kissed his sister and went
off to his own room, whistling on his way thither with peculiar
distinctness and perseverance.

Nearly an hour later two figures stood by the dim light in the passage
and conversed in whispers:

"Now, my charming Lydia, how about that key?"

"I'll 'charming Lydia' you!" was the reply. "I like your impudence!"

"I know you do. You shall have some more when I've time to spare. But
now I must really be off. Get me the key, there's a dear girl."

"I can't, then. If you want a latch-key, why don't you go to ma and say
so like a man? There it is, and you'd have it directly."

"O most unreasonable Lydia! How many times must I explain to you that
that wouldn't do, because your ma, while she possesses many of the
charms, is not quite exempt from the weakness of her sex: in short,
Lydia, she talks."

"Well, what then? If I were a man I wouldn't be afraid of my sister. I'd
be my own master."

"So will I," said Bertie Lisle.

"And I'd say what I meant right out. I would!"

"If you knew there'd be a fuss, and people anxious about you, would
you?" He yawned. "No: I'll be my own master, but I like to do things
quietly."

"I don't care so much about that," said Lydia, whose feelings were less
delicate. To struggle openly for an avowed object seemed to her the
most natural thing in the world, and she would have preferred her
independence to be conspicuous. She did not understand that with men of
Bertie's stamp it is not the latch-key itself, but the unsuspected
latch-key, which confers the liberty they love.

"Well?" said he. "Am I to stay here all night?"

"That's just what you'd better do. You won't get any good out of that
lot; and so I tell you. You'll lose your money and get into nasty
drinking ways: don't you go there any more."

"Upon my word, Lydia, you preach as well as old Clifton does."

"And do you just as much good, I dare say."

"Just as much. You've hit it exactly."

"I thought so. You aren't the sort to take any heed. One may preach and
preach--"

"How well you understand me! No, as you say, I am not the sort to get
any good from preaching. You are