“Something very different, indeed,” pursued Lydia, with quiet obstinacy. “And something very startling.” “CAN’T you shut up?” exclaimed Cashel. “I should have expected more sense from you. What’s the use of setting her on to make a fuss and put me in a rage? I’ll go away if you don’t stop.” “What is the matter?” said Mrs. Byron. “Have you been doing anything disgraceful, Cashel?” “There she goes. I told you so. I keep a gymnasium, that’s all. There’s nothing disgraceful in that, I hope.” “A gymnasium?” repeated Mrs. Byron, with imperious disgust. “What nonsense! You must give up everything of that kind, Cashel. It is very silly, and very low. You were too ridiculously proud, of course, to come to me for the means of keeping yourself in a proper position. I suppose I shall have to provide you with--” “If I ever take a penny from you, may I--” Cashel caught Lydia’s anxious look, and checked himself. He paused and got away a step, a cunning smile flickering on his lips. “No,” he said; “it’s just playing into your hands to lose temper with you. You think you know me, and you want to force the fighting. Well, we’ll see. Make me angry now if you can.” “There is not the slightest reason for anger,” said Mrs. Byron, angry herself. “Your temper seems to have become ungovernable--or, rather, to have remained so; for it was never remarkable for sweetness.” “No,” retorted Cashel, jeering good-humoredly. “Not the slightest occasion to lose my temper! Not when I am told that I am silly and low! Why, I think you must fancy that you’re talking to your little Cashel, that blessed child you were so fond of. But you’re not. You’re talking--now for a screech, Miss Carew!--to the champion of Australia, the United States, and England, holder of three silver belts and one gold one (which you can have to wear in ‘King John’ if you think it’ll become you); professor of boxing to the nobility and gentry of St. James’s, and common prize-fighter to the whole globe, without reference to weight or color, for not less than five hundred pounds a side. That’s Cashel Byron.” Mrs. Byron recoiled, astounded. After a pause she said, “Oh, Cashel, how COULD you?” Then, approaching him again, “Do you mean to say that you go out and fight those great rough savages?” “Yes, I do.” “And that you BEAT them?” “Yes. Ask Miss Carew how Billy Paradise looked after standing before me for an hour.” “You wonderful boy! What an occupation! And you have done all this in your own name?” “Of course I have. I am not ashamed of it. I often wondered whether you had seen my name in the papers.” “I never read the papers. But you must have heard of my return to England. Why did you not come to see me?” “I wasn’t quite certain that you would like it,” said Cashel, uneasily, avoiding her eye. “Hullo!” he exclaimed, as he attempted to refresh himself by another look at Lydia, “she’s given us the slip.”