hen he returned he hurled a pair of boxing-gloves
at Geraldine, who put them on, laced them, trembling with wrath, and
flew at her brother as soon as his own gloves were fastened.

They went about their business like lightning, swinging, blocking,
countering. Twice she gave him inviting openings and then punished him
savagely before he could get away; then he attempted in-fighting, but
her legs were too nimble. And after a while he lost his head and came at
her using sheer weight, which set her beside herself with fury.

Teeth clenched, crimson-cheeked, she side-stepped, feinted, and whipped
in an upper-cut. Then, darting in, she drove home her left with all her
might; and Scott went down with an unmistakable thud.

"One--two--three--four," she counted, "and you _did_ tell a lie, didn't
you? Five--six--Oh, Scott! I've made your nose bleed horridly! Does it
hurt, dear? Seven--eight----"

The boy, still confused, rose and instinctively assumed the classic
attitude of self-defence; but his sister threw down her gloves and
offered him her handkerchief, saying: "You've just got to be fair to me
now, Scott. Tell me that I throw straight and that I did hit Olga!"

He hesitated; wiped his nose:

"I take it back. You can throw straight. Ginger! What a crack you just
gave me!"

She was all compunction and honey now, hovering around him where he
stood stanching honourable wounds. After a while he laughed. "Thunder!"
he exclaimed ruefully; "my nose seems to be growing for fair. You're all
right, Geraldine."

"Here's my last cup-cake, if you like," said his sister, radiant.

Embarrassed a little by defeat, but nursing no bitterness, he sat down
on the leather divan again and permitted his sister to feed him and tell
him that his disaster was only an accident. He tried to think so, too,
but serious doubts persisted in his mind. There had been a clean-cut
finish to that swing and jab which disturbed his boy's conceit.

"We'll try it again," he began. "I'm all right now, if you like----"

"Oh, Scott, I don't want to!"

"Well, we ought to know which of us really can lick the other----"

"Why, of course, you can lick me every time. Besides, I wouldn't want to
be able to lick you--except when I'm very, very angry. And I ought not
to become angry the way I do. Kathleen tries so hard to make me stop
and reflect before I do things, but I can't seem to learn.... Does your
nose hurt?"

"Not in the least," said her brother, redd