“That goes without saying, my dear fellow,” answered George, with a cruel patronage in his tone which made the cripple wince. “All women don’t worship brutes! I wouldn’t enter the lists with you for your Molly and Sukey; but ladies are different.” “Different from what? From Molly and Sukey, or from Miss Lane, the governess?” “Ah, you can look down upon ‘Miss Lane, the governess,’ since she calls you a brute!” “When did she call me a brute? It’s a lie!” said George, sharply. “It’s not a lie! She said you and Harry were both brutes; and, by Jove, she was right!” George raised his fist, but dropped it with an ostentatious self-restraint. “You are a privileged person,” said he, coolly. Stephen sprung forward and struck him in the face; but George remained as irritatingly quiet as ever. “But you shouldn’t presume upon your advantages. You can tell lies as other gentlemen may not do, and you can strike a man without getting struck back; but you can’t expect to hold your own with a woman against me, or even Harry. It’s absurd!” “What do you mean by ‘even Harry?’” asked the third brother, savagely. “What I mean by it in this case is that, by a little careful management you might have got the _tête-à-tête_ you wanted with pretty Miss Lane, but that, if I had stepped in, not all the management in the world would have availed you to get what you wanted.” “You think yourself irresistible?” “No, I don’t. But I think I know more about women than you do; and I’m not quite such a cub as to think I can impress a woman favorably by merely staring across the dinner-table at her and insulting everybody who is civil to her.” Harry grew red at this home-thrust. “And I suppose you think you have impressed her very favorably by drawling compliments into her ear one minute and turning your back to her the next?” “That’s all his science,” said Wilfred, who had been drinking more than the rest, but who had as much wit when he was tipsy as his brothers had when they were sober. “Well, haven’t we exhausted the little governess?” asked George, yawning. “Yes; let us talk of the Duchess of Shoreditch,” proposed Wilfred, mimicking him. “Oh, y-e-s, we will!” said Harry, following his example rather clumsily. “You might have condescended to see a duchess home yourself, perhaps?” “To the man of principle all women are duchesses,” answered Wilfred, who was becoming tiresome. “My dear Wilfred, what do you know about the man of principle?” asked his eldest brother, with a look which recalled to the sententious one various occasions on which his morality had given way rather suddenly. “All women are not duchesses; and I would rather see a governess home on a moonlit evening than a duchess, for the simple reason that I should get better paid for my trouble.” “Not by Miss Lane!” cried Harry, starting up, his face aflame. George did not answer. “Not by Miss Lane!” said Harry again, in a louder voice. “Answer, you--conceited liar!”