"Because you seem to think so much more about him. You like to be in his company, and you treasure every word that he says." I thought she looked confused, as she said hurriedly, "Why should I not?" At this answer I was as much the slave to my mad feelings as when we had commenced our walk. It was bitter hard for me. There, in sight of the very place where I had saved her, she admitted her preference for him who had done nothing for her. "Why should you not?" I answered, boisterously, "why not indeed. There is every reason why you should. No doubt you wish Wilfred were the elder son and I the younger. No doubt you wish he were Trewinion's heir, and that I were penniless." "No, Roger," she said, "were you penniless, and were your father to die, you would have no means of obtaining a livelihood. It is best as it is." Blunt and dull of perception as I was I could not help seeing the purport of this. She thought me too much of a fool to earn a living; that it was only by the money which I inherited as a birthright I was saved from starving. "I see the point of your answer, Ruth," I said. "You think Wilfred far more fit for the position of Trewinion's heir than I, and that I am too ignorant a clown to get a living for myself." "I cannot help what conclusions you draw from my words, Roger," she replied. "There is only one conclusion to be drawn," I answered. "You think Wilfred better than I. You think he should be master, and not I. You think I am a brute, a savage." "I think no such thing," she replied, "but you must yourself feel the difference between you and him. He is kind, thoughtful, gentle; he is cultured and refined. He gives way to no fits of passion, nor does he seek to hurt one's feelings." "Yes, yes," I said, bitterly. "He has been to Oxford, and has learnt tricks dear to a woman's heart, and, having learnt them, he knows how to practise them. He can quote poetry, and make soft speeches; he can please you with flattery. His face is pale and interesting, his hands are soft and white; and Ruth is very fond of him." "You are unkind, and you are unjust, Roger. If he has been fonder of study than you, and if he has learnt to govern his temper, don't be jealous or cruel. Better try and emulate him. You call yourself boorish and clownish. Try and improve yourself; and then, perhaps, you will not feel so much inferior to your brother." As I have said before, no one cares to hear another say what in self-disparaging moments he often says about himself. A dozen times in the last fortnight had I spoken of myself as inferior to my brother, but for another to say it was wormwood and gall to me.