"But what are most of the things they say, Mrs. Falkner? Now I, for my part, never can get anybody to _say_ anything. They will hint unutterables and look unutterables, but when it comes to _saying_--no, thank you, they are not taking any." "But he is such a very mysterious personage. Not a soul here knows anything about him--about his affairs, I mean--and who he is." "Perhaps that enhances his attractiveness in my eyes, Mrs. Falkner. There is prestige in the unknown." "Not of a good kind, as a rule," she replied, and then stopped short, for a dry malicious cough on the part of George brought home to her the consciousness that she was putting her foot in it pretty effectively. For the same held good of the man to whom she was talking; about Laurence Stanninghame and his affairs not a soul there knew anything. Not a soul? Yes, one, peradventure. For between himself and Lilith the interchange of ideas had been plenteous and frequent, and the subtile, sympathetic vein existing between them had deepened and grown apace. About himself and his affairs he had _told_ her nothing, yet it is probable that he could tell her but little on this head that would be news in any sense of the word. Lilith's aunt, however, who was a good-hearted soul, without a grain of malice in her composition, felt supremely uncomfortable and quite savage with George, who was now grinning, sourly and significantly. None of this by-play was lost upon Laurence, but he showed no consciousness. He knew that George Falkner detested him--detested him cordially, yet he in no wise reciprocated this dislike. He did not blame George. Probably he would have felt the same way himself, had he been in George's place and at George's age; for the latter had the advantage of him on the side of youth by at least ten years. He was inclined to like him, and at any rate was sorry for him, perhaps with a dash of pity that came near contempt. Poor George did give himself away so, and it was so foolish--so supremely foolish. Yet not for a moment did it occur to Laurence to efface himself in this connection. Duty? Hang duty! He had made a most ruinous muddle of his whole life through reverencing that fetich word. Honour? There was no breach of honour where there was no deception, no pretence. Consideration for others? Who on earth ever dreamt of considering him--when to do so would cost them anything, that is? Unselfishness? Everybody was selfish--everything even. What had he ever gained by striving to improve upon the universal law? Nothing--nothing good; everything bad--bad and deteriorating--morally and physically.