There was something in the colonel's tone so utterly different from his usual courtly and measured speech, that Lancelot was taken completely by surprise, and stammered out,—
'I—I—I—no—no. I know I am very foolish—ungrateful. But I do hate you,' he said, with a sudden impulse, 'and I'll tell you why.'
'Give me your hand,' quoth the colonel: 'I like that. Now we shall see our way with each other, at least.'
'Because,' said Lancelot, slowly, 'because you are cleverer than I, readier than I, superior to me in every point.'
The colonel laughed, not quite merrily. Lancelot went on, holding down his shaggy brows.
'I am a brute and an ass!—And yet I do not like to tell you so. For if I am an ass, what are you?'
'Heyday?'
'Look here.—I am wasting my time and brains on ribaldry, but I am worth nothing better—at least, I think so at times; but you, who can do anything you put your hand to, what business have you, in the devil's name, to be throwing yourself away on gimcracks and fox-hunting foolery? Heavens! if I had your talents, I'd be—I'd make a name for myself before I died, if I died to make it.'
The colonel griped his hand hard, rose, and looked out of the window for a few minutes. There was a dead, brooding silence, till he turned to Lancelot,—
'Mr. Smith, I thank you for your honesty, but
