Lucian made no reply to this generous offer. He knew that there was no love lost between the two girls, and could not quite understand why, any more than he could realise that they were sisters under their skins. He understood the Sprats of the sisterly, maternal, good-chum side; but Haidee was an ethereal being though possessed of a sound appetite. He wished that Sprats were more sympathetic about his lady-love; she was sympathetic enough about himself, and she listened to his rhapsodies with a certain amount of curiosity which was gratifying to his pride. But when he remarked that she too would have a lover some day, Sprats’s rebellious nature rose up and kicked vigorously. ‘Thank you!’ she said, ‘but I don’t happen to want anything of that sort. If you could only see what an absolute fool you look when you are anywhere within half a mile of Haidee, you’d soon arrive at the conclusion that spooniness doesn’t improve a fellow! I suppose it’s all natural, but I never expected it of you, you know, Lucian. I’m sure I’ve acted like a real pal to you--just look what a stuck-up little monkey you were when I took you in hand!--you couldn’t play cricket nor climb a tree, and you used to tog up every day as if you were going to an old maid’s muffin-worry. I did get you out of all those bad ways--until the Dolly came along (she _is_ a Dolly, and I don’t care!). You didn’t mind going about with a hole or two in your trousers and an old straw hat and dirty hands, and since then you’ve worn your best clothes every day, and greased your hair, and yesterday you’d been putting scent on your handkerchief! Bah!--if lovers are like that, I don’t want one--I could get something better out of the nearest lunatic asylum. And I don’t think much of men anyhow--they’re all more or less babies. You’re a baby, and so is his Vicarness’ (this was Sprats’s original mode of referring to her father), ‘and so is your uncle Pepperdine--all babies, hopelessly feeble, and unable to do anything for yourselves. What would any of you do without a woman? No, thank you, I’m not keen about men--they worry one too much. And as for love--well, if it makes you go off your food, and keeps you awake at night, and turns you into a jackass, I don’t want any of it--it’s too rotten altogether.’ ‘You don’t understand,’ said Lucian pityingly, and with a deep sigh. ‘Don’t want to,’ retorted Sprats. ‘Oh, my--fancy spending your time in spooning when you might be playing cricket! You have degenerated, Lucian, though I expect you can’t help it--it’s inevitable, like measles and whooping-cough. I wonder how long you will feel bad?’