“Don’t be so superior,” he retorted. “Just because you can type a certain number of words per minute, you give yourself such airs.” “Well, that’s a better reason than the fact of being a few inches longer than most people.” “Now you two,” put in Lorraine, “don’t start quarrelling in such a hurry. Try and be nice and polite to each other for a few minutes.” “Baby doesn’t like me when I’m polite,” said Hal. “I’ve never had a chance to judge.” “Liar. What about the first time we met?” “I thought you were rather nice in those days. Your offensive attitude is only of comparatively recent date.” “Oh, don’t sit there like a stodgy old book-worm, reeling off nicely rounded sentences.” “I hope it might impress you with the incongruity of addressing me as an infant.” Hal looked up from her lowly seat with a mischievous, engaging expression. “You know you really are rather clever in a useless sort of fashion,” she informed him. “Thank you,” making a bow. “Can’t you tell him how to be clever in a useful sort of fashion, with all your practical experience?” suggested Lorraine. “Oh, I _could_; but what’s the use? he doesn’t want to know. It would mean hard work.” “Give him the benefit of a suggestion, anyhow.” “Well, other briefless barristers peg away at journalism, and political agency work, and coaching, and studying. Baby just sits down and looks nice, as if he thought the briefs would come fluttering round him like all the silly, pink-cheeked, wide-eyed girls. You ought to have seen our little maid the night he dined with us. When she first saw him she seemed to mutter ‘O my’ in a breathless fashion, and when she handed him his plate, she spilt all the gravy on to his knee, gazing into his face.” Hermon looked a little annoyed. “Very few people can talk absolute rot in a clever way,” he aimed at her. Hal laughed. “Why, that drew you, Baby! You look quite ruffled. I was only pulling your leg: the pink-cheeked girls don’t really flutter round, they run away in terror at your scowl. You know he can scowl, Lorraine. At least it isn’t exactly a scowl; it’s more a cast-iron solemnity of such degree that it has a Medusa-like effect and freezes the poor little peach-blossom girls into putty images.” “I’m sure Mr. Hermon never gives his personal appearance a thought,” Lorraine replied, “except when you insist upon harping on it.” “I can’t help it. I feel he’s hemmed in with such a sticky, treacly, simpering amount of youthful adoration generally, that I simply have to rag him for his good!” “It’s very kind of you to be so interested in my welfare”—a twinkle gleamed suddenly in his blue eyes—“I certainly like your way of adoring the best.” “Ah”—with an answering twinkle—“I didn’t think you had guessed my secret. How embarrassing of you! You have positively driven me away.” She rose to her feet. “I must go, Lorry. I can’t sit out any more. He has discovered that I adore him.”