“Oh, he is all right.” I might just as well have said plainly that I disliked him, for Sibella was not deceived. She had a Jezebel’s gift for detecting antagonisms between those of the opposite sex and playing upon them. I believe this characteristic invariably differentiates the woman who uses her sex power for evil from the woman who uses it for good. “You don’t like him,” she answered at once. “You are jealous of him.” “Jealous! Why?” “Because he plays games better than you do.” I laughed. It was the last thing that was ever likely to make me jealous. She saw that the taunt had failed and tried another. “And also because he is so much better looking than you are.” I laughed again. From Sibella the absolutely untrue was not convincing. But Sibella had a way of thrusting till she thrust home. “You needn’t laugh—because it’s quite true, and you are also jealous because he is so much more manly than you are.” I knew what she meant. Lionel Holland’s flamboyant animalism and sex assurance stood in her eyes for prime qualities. She was superficially feminine and loved a brute. The woman of delicate upbringing, who astonishes her friends by her inexplicable infatuation for a boaster who is obviously a cad and a bully despite his physical advantages, is twin sister to the lady of the slums who worships the brute who blackens her eyes and kicks her as an amusing conclusion to the week’s work. The poor slut flatters herself that it is evidence of a strength which he would not fail to use in her defence, forgetting that a bully is only occasionally a brave man. I saw what was coming and grew sick at heart. One thing comforted me; Sibella was a snob, and despite his riches she would never be able to taunt me with his superior caste. “I shouldn’t show my jealousy if I were you,” she concluded. I looked at her quietly. “You ought to be killed.” I said the thing I knew would bludgeon her into silence. She shared Grahame’s fear of death, but in her case it was more ignoble. I believe if Grahame had been condemned to death his pride would have overcome his fear. I could imagine Sibella whining and fawning at the executioner’s feet. She looked at me with distinct apprehension, and at that moment Grahame entered the room accompanied by Lionel Holland. Sibella immediately began to exercise her fascinations and to concentrate the attention of the visitor on herself. I have often thought since that Lionel Holland must have manœuvred his invitation to the house, for he seemed already to have made up his mind how to proceed with Sibella. He flattered her vanity, said that he remembered her perfectly on the day of the sports, and declared that he should certainly not have tried so hard had she not been there.