"Oh, I don't know. The eldest isn't up to much--too cold and stuck up. As for the young one--Sophie--she's a detestable brat. Tries to snub a fellow, don't you know. Thinks herself no end clever. But the middle one--Olive--fact is, she's a monstrously pretty girl." "Ahem! And when did you make that discovery?" "Why I saw her at the station the other day--and rather took stock of her; and I tell you, a fellow might make something of her." "Or the other way about--she might make something of a fellow," returned his sister, with a slight curl of the lip. "Go it!" exploded the other wrathfully. "Of course it's very funny and all that. I see what you mean, and the joke's a poor one. I thought you might be of some use to a fellow; but if you want to play the fool instead, why there's an end of it." "My dear boy, I can't help you in the very least. You know mamma hates the sight of them, and as for papa he declares that if he had his will he would try poor Dr Ingelow by drumhead court martial and have him shot. It's hard lines that we are to be at daggers drawn with people whom everybody says are awfully nice, just because their opinions are not ours, I must say." "Well, I rather agree with the veteran. All that papistical stuff is awful bosh, and a parson who goes in for it is no better than a wolf in sheep's clothing--as old mother Frewen always says. But all the same that's no reason why we shouldn't know the girls." "Why didn't you make acquaintance with the brother at Oxford?" asked Nellie. "Oh, I don't know. Didn't think it worth while then. These freshmen are generally a bore." "Freshmen! Why this is his fourth term." "Is it? I didn't know. Hallo--I say--there's the veteran calling you, outside. Better look sharp, the old man's face is getting apoplectic," he added teasingly, discerning that the French window was jammed and wouldn't open, and that the frown was deepening on their father's face where he stood at the other side of the gravel walk.