"Yes, friction. That's the only word. You know, Ruth, I don't want to be a brute. You know what pals we were as kids, what pals we still are" (he forced the words out), "and that's why I intend to have it out. It isn't good enough. You know what a row we had over dinner. _That's_ why I asked Boyd along. How do you expect a man to write when he's just had a row that's brought his soul red-hot into his throat? And you weren't very cheery company! So naturally I asked Boyd in. I often do that or go out myself or else pretend to work, because I simply can't endure your company a moment longer." And now his sister leapt up to her feet. When she came to life it was always sudden. "Hubert!" she cried in tearful reproach. She only called him Hubert at such moments. He signalled her down without any ceremony. "For goodness' sake," he said, and it was nearly stronger, "don't let's have a row." He took a moment to calm himself and then said levelly, "Look here, old girl, I want to thrash this matter out once and for all. It's no use killing love in this world, is it? It's rare enough, God knows. We've been such good pals, you and I, and now we are--like this." He pointed at her, and she fell back dully on her chair. "We don't mean it really," she said, fumbling for her handkerchief. Hubert spoke seriously. "We do, though. Anyhow, we should in time. It's just like other habits. It grows. It grows quickly, too. We never used to fight at all, you know." "_I_ never fight now," she protested, very near to tears. "I've always given in." Poor, timid, self-sacrificing Ruth never could understand what her brother's tempers were about. She tried so hard not to stand up against him! "Oh, damn!" cried Hubert, and strode madly up and down the room. It was all very futile, quite familiar. She looked as pained as usual. "What is it, Hugh?" she gently asked. "Of course you've given in," he flung at her. "You always do. You're always in the right: you are so keen to be! You wouldn't make me cross for worlds! It's just your damned humility I can't endure. No man on earth could possibly endure it." "I can't help my nature," she sobbed into her handkerchief. "I do my best to please you. I try to fall into your ways, I'm sure." Hubert came up to her presently and touched her on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ruth," he said. "It was my fault. I lost my temper. I was a cad to swear but somehow--oh, I don't know," and he sank down upon the chair again. "I suppose really it's just what Boyd has often said, brother and sister weren't ever made to live together. He says all relatives have a natural antipathy to one another and----" "I'm sure _I_ haven't," interrupted Ruth.