acquaintance! Lionel felt that he hated the whole sex as he stood by his father’s side watching these two about the decks. When they passed she would nod at him, or give him one of her easy smiles, not in the least ignoring his position, recognizing it, and coolly suffering it so to be. At last he had to withdraw, helping Thomas to move his father into the cabin reserved for him, and consequently losing sight of them for a moment. When he returned he could not see them, and the rage in him burned fiercer than ever. Then, on the bridge, high up against the sky, he discerned something like Harry’s figure, with a red tip of a cigar appearing above the collar of his warm coat. Harry had become chilly after ten years of Italian life. Lionel laughed at this effeminacy. He liked to feel that his own coat was thin, yet quite enough for his muscular Anglicism. No doubt she had gone in, retired for the night, and _all that_ was out of the question. He did not specify to himself what _all that_ was. He had not the heart even for a cigar. If he smoked he would come across that fellow, and be compelled to talk to him. After all, it was a great mistake to dis-inter relations whom you know nothing about. One might be nice--though even of that he felt far from certain--but the rest were almost sure to be bores, like this fellow. Indeed, the brothers were all bores, and without any breeding. It was a mistake to have taken any trouble about them, or ever to have sought them out at all. “Confound them!” he said to himself, facing the breeze, diving his hands deep down to the bottom of his pockets, and angrily gazing into the night. “Confound whom, Cousin Lionel?” said a voice by his side. Lionel started violently, then turned round. “Oh! are you there? I did not know where you were. I thought you had gone to bed.” “Must one go to bed? They say we get to Genoa quite early; and it is such a lovely, lovely night.” “Do you think so?” he said, softened; “so do I. If you will stay with me, I don’t think you need go to bed; but if you are going off again with that fellow--I mean, of course, with your brother----” “It is quite delightful,” said Lydia, with energy, “to have a brother--you know, a real brother--a little like one’s self: not elderly, and worldly, and Westmoreland, like Will and Tom.” “I thought you were so fond of Westmoreland,” said Lionel. “Ah! so I am; but not that kind. Now Harry is--you can’t think what Harry is----” “I know what you want me to think him--the most disgusting interloper, the worst nuisance in the world. It is quite unaccountable of him to go and leave you alone here. Doesn’t he know how a lady should be taken care of? In a common steamboat when there are all sorts of people----”