Anne sat down by Janet, advised her that Mrs Trefusis did not like cream, and then, while she swallowed a cup of tea sweetened to nausea, devoted herself to Fred. His nervous laugh became less strident, his conversation less pendulous between a paralysed constraint and a galvanized familiarity. Anne loved horses, but she did not talk of them to Fred, though, from his appearance, it seemed as if no other subject had ever occupied his attention. Why is it that a passion for horses writes itself as plainly as a craving for alcohol on the faces of the men and women who live for them? Anne spoke of the Boer war in its most obvious aspects, mentioned a few of its best-known incidents, of which even he could not be ignorant. Janet glanced with fond pride at her brother, as he declaimed against the Government for its refusal to buy thousands of hypothetical Kaffir ponies, and as he posted Anne in the private workings of the mind of her cousin, the Prime Minister. Fred had even heard of certain scandals respecting the hospitals for the wounded, and opined with decision that war could not be conducted on rose-water principles, with a bottle of eau-de-Cologne at each man's pillow. "Fine woman that!" said Fred to Janet afterwards, as she walked a few steps with him on his homeward way. "Woman of the world. Knows her way about. And how she holds herself! A little thin perhaps, and not much colour, but shows her breeding. Who is she?" "Lady Varney." "Married?" "N--no." "H'm! Look here, Janet. You suck up to her. And you look how she does things, and notice the way she talks. She reads the papers, takes an interest in politics. That's what a man likes. You do the same. And don't you knock under to that old bag of bones too much. Hold your own. We are as good as she is." "Oh, no, Fred; we're not." "Oh! it's all rot about family. It's not worth a rush. We are just the same as them. A gentleman's a gentleman whether he lives in a large house or a small one, and the real snobs are the people who think different. Does it make you less of a lady because you live in an unpretentious way? Not a bit of it. Don't talk to me." Janet remained silent. She felt there was some hitch in her brother's reasoning, which, until to-day, had appeared to her irrefutable, but she could not see where the hitch lay. "You must stand up to the old woman, I tell you. I don't want you to be rude, but you let her know that she is the dowager. Don't give way. Didn't you see how I tackled her?" "I'm not clever like you." "Well, you are a long sight prettier," said her brother proudly. "And I've brought some dollars with me for the trousseau. You go to the Brands to-morrow, don't you?" "Yes." "Well, don't pay for anything you can help. Tell them to put it down. Get this Lady Varney or Mrs Brand to recommend the shops and dressmakers, and then they will not dun us for money." "Oh, Fred! Are you so hard up?"