"You were never very much good," she went on, paying no attention to his question, "and always conceited, but that was your aunt's fault as much as any one's, and she gave you that idea of your family--that you were God's own chosen people and that no one could come within speaking distance of you--you had that when you were quite a little boy, and you seem to have thought that that was enough, that you need never do anything all your life just because you were a Trojan. Eton helped the idea, and when you went up to Cambridge you were a snob of the first order. I thought Cambridge would knock it out of you, but it didn't; it encouraged you, and you were always with people who thought as you did, and you fancied that your own little corner of the earth--your own little potato-patch--was better than every one else's gardens; I thought you were a pretty poor thing when you came back from Cambridge last year, but now you've beaten my expectations by a good deal----" "I say----" he broke in--"really I----" but she went on unheeding-- "Instead of working and doing something like any decent man would, you loafed along with your friends learning to tie your tie and choosing your waistcoat-buttons; you go and make love to a decent girl and then when you've tired of her tell her so, and seem surprised at her hitting back. "Then at last when there is a chance of your seeing what a man is like--that he isn't only a man who dresses decently like a tailor's model--when your father comes back and asks you to spend a few of your idle hours with him, you laugh at him, his manners, his habits, his friends, his way of thinking; you insult him and cut him dead--your father, one of the finest men in the world. Why, you aren't fit to brush his clothes!--but that isn't the worst! Now--when you find you're in a hole and you want some one to help you out of it and you don't know where to turn, you suddenly think of your father. He wasn't any good before--he was rough and stupid, almost vulgar, but now that he can help you, you'll turn and play the dutiful son! "That's you as you are, Robin Trojan--you asked me for it and you've got it; it's just as well that you should see yourself as you are for once in your life--you'll forget it all again soon enough. I'm not saying it's only you--it's the lot of you--idle, worthless, snobbish, empty, useless. Help you? No! You can go to your father yourself and think yourself lucky if he will speak to you." Mary stopped for lack of breath. Of course, he couldn't know that she'd been attacking herself as much as him, that, had it not been for that scene three days ago, she would never have spoken at all. "I say!" he said quietly, "is it really as bad as that? Am I that sort of chap?" "Yes. You know it now at least." "It's not quite fair. I am only like the rest. I----" "Yes, but why should you be? Fancy being proud that you are like the rest! One of a crowd!"