"I hope you use less slang in Spanish than in English," said Lascelles, posing again. "I’m afraid the prospect of our parting has got on your nerves, Cello." "I wish you wouldn’t be so disgustingly vulgar and personal as to use that ridiculous nickname for me," he retorted, angrily. "I wish to see you in the study, Ferdinand, in about a quarter of an hour. I have something very important to say to you," interposed my father, rising to leave the room, as he generally did when my brother and I looked like having words. "Very well, sir. I’ll come to you." "Do you know the news, Nand?" cried Mercy, as soon as the door closed behind him, and the look of her eye was full of mischief. "No. I’ve only read a couple of newspapers this morning," I answered, flippantly. "I don’t mean news of the stupid newspaper sort; I mean real, private, important news. This will be in the fashionable gossip next week: but it isn’t public yet." "No—and I’m afraid I’m not very interested in it, either. Next week I shall be in Madrid." "Ah, but this is about Madrid, too," she cried, looking mysterious. "What do you mean, Mercy?" asked Lascelles, who was of a very curious turn, and not quick. "What news is it?" "It’s about Mrs. Curwen, Lascelles. She is going to stay in Madrid;" and Mercy pointed the little shaft with a barbed glance that made him colour with vexation. "Upon my word, Mercy, you ought to know better. You are abominably rude, and your manners are unpardonable," he cried, angrily. "I declare I won’t allow it." "Allow it? Why, she didn’t tell me she had to ask your permission. But, of course, I’ll tell her she mustn’t go," returned Mercy, with such a fine assumption of innocent misunderstanding that I could not restrain my laughter. "It will be a good thing when you are gone, Ferdinand," he turned on me, wrathfully. "You only encourage Mercy in these acts of rudeness." "Don’t be a prig, Cello," said I, good humouredly. "You are a good chap at bottom, and when you don’t stick those airs on." "I shall not stay here to be insulted," he exclaimed, and he retreated, leaving us in possession of the field. "That was too bad, Mercy. You hit him below the belt," I said, when he had gone. "But he’s just insufferable in those moods, and he gets worse and worse every week. And it’s horrid of him to drive you away like this. Positively horrid." "It’s all right, girlie. I’m not the first man by a good many who has left his country for his family’s good, even to climb the diplomatic ladder. And when I’ve got up a few rungs, as the father calls them, and can afford to have an establishment, you shall come and boss it, and we’ll have a high old time." "Yes, but that’s just it, Nand." "What’s just it?" "Why, of course, you’re just the dearest brother in the world and awfully good at Spanish and all that, but I don’t believe you’ll be a bit of good as a diplomatist; and you’ll never get on enough to have any place for me to boss."