"Well, I don't care; home's wretched and I'm miserable. Besides, other people enjoy seeing me so. Maude is always going about the house like a ghost, or listening to that organ man. She's going mad, I fancy. Then Charley Melton has turned out a fool to cave in as he has done, and Tryphie cuts me--" "As you deserve." "That's right, go it. The governor's miserable, and that mummy Wilters is always here. Nice place to stop in. Perhaps I ought to aim higher than billiards, and keeping one's cue in a japanned case hanging up in a public room. But look at me; hang it, I hardly get a shilling, if I don't have some fellow at billiards. What have I to look forward to?" Tryphie made a movement to continue her way, but Tom spread his hands so as to stop her descent. "Will you have the goodness to allow me to pass, Lord Diphoos?" she said, demurely. "_Lord_!" he cried, peevishly. "Very well, then, most spoiled child of the house," said Tryphie, maliciously, "Master Diphoos." "You make my life quite miserable, Tryphie, you do, 'pon my honour. You're the most ungracious--" "There's pretty language to use to a lady, sir," cried Tryphie, speaking as if in an angry fit. "Say I'm the most disgraceful at once, sir." "Oh, I didn't mean that," said Tom; "I meant ungracious and unyielding." "Of course, sir. Pretty words to apply to a lady." "Bother!" cried Tom. "I never looked upon you as a lady." "Thank you, sir," she said, making him a most profound curtsey. "Well, you know what I mean," grumbled Tom; "I always think of you as Cousin Tryphie, whom I--there," he whispered, "I will say it--I love with all my heart." "Bosh!" exclaimed Tryphie. "There's pretty language to use to a gentleman," retorted Tom. "I never look upon you as a gentleman," said Tryphie in her turn; and she darted a mischievous look at him. "Thank you, ma'am," said Tom, who was now quite out of heart and temper. "And so you go on snub, snub, peck, peck, till a fellow feels as if he would like to make a hole in the water, he's so sick of his life." "But he only makes a hole in his manners instead," cried Tryphie. "I say, Tryphie, you know," cried Tom, now appealingly. "Don't be so jolly hard on a fellow who loves you as I do. I can't bear it when you snub me so. I say, dear," he continued, taking her hand, "say a kind word to me." "Let go my hand, sir, and don't be stupid," she cried. "Tryphie!" "Well, Tom! Now look here, I've got to be so that I can hardly believe in there being such a thing as sincerity in the world, after what I've seen in this house: but all the same I do think you mean what you say." "Thankye, Tryphie; that's the kindest thing you've said to me for months," said Tom. "Stop a bit, sir, and listen. I was going to say--" "No, don't say any more, dear," cried Tom, imploringly. "You've said something kind to me, and I shall go and get fat on that for a month."