Cashel Byron's Profession

"The incident strikes me rather as being pathetic," said Lucian, who

liked to show that he was not deficient in sensibility. "One can

picture the innocent faith of the poor woman in her boy's future,

and so forth."

"Inscriptions in books are like inscriptions on tombstones," said

Alice, disparagingly. "They don't mean much."

"I am glad that these men have no further excuse for going to

Wiltstoken. It was certainly most unfortunate that Lydia should have

made the acquaintance of one of them."

"So you have said at least fifty times," replied Alice,

deliberately. "I believe you are jealous of that poor boxer."

Lucian became quite red. Alice trembled at her own audacity, but

kept a bold front.

"Really--it's too absurd," he said, betraying his confusion by

assuming a carelessness quite foreign to his normal manner. "In what

way could I possibly be jealous, Miss Goff?"

"That is best known to yourself."

Lucian now saw plainly that there was a change in Alice, and that he

had lost ground with her. The smarting of his wounded vanity

suddenly obliterated his impression that she was, in the main, a

well-conducted and meritorious young woman. But in its place came

another impression that she was a spoiled beauty. And, as he was by

no means fondest of the women whose behavior accorded best with his

notions of propriety, he found, without at once acknowledging to

himself, that the change was not in all respects a change for the

worse. Nevertheless, he could not forgive her last remark, though he

took care not to let her see how it stung him.

"I am afraid I should cut a poor figure in an encounter with my

rival," he said, smiling.

"Call him out and shoot him," said Alice, vivaciously. "Very likely

he does not know how to use a pistol."

He smiled again; but had Alice known how seriously he entertained

her suggestion for some moments before dismissing it as

impracticable, she would not have offered it. Putting a bullet into

Cashel struck him rather as a luxury which he could not afford than

as a crime. Meanwhile, Alice, being now quite satisfied that this

Mr. Webber, on whom she had wasted so much undeserved awe, might be

treated as inconsiderately as she used to treat her beaux at

Wiltstoken, proceeded to amuse herself by torturing him a little.

"It is odd," she said, reflectively, "that a common man like that

should be able to make himself so very attractive to Lydia. It was

not because he was such a fine man; for she does not care in the

least about that. I don't think she would give a second look at the

handsomest man in London, she is so purely intellectual. And yet she

used to delight in talking to him."