"Then what did Ethel say or do?"
Nigel had reached his utmost limit of endurance for one evening.
"Somebody else seems taking up with the inquisitorial line now," he said, not so lightly as he wished.
"Are you going to bed?"
She gave him a searching glance, then held out her hand, keeping her head well back.
"Good-night," came abruptly. "So Ethel does stand first, as Anice said,—before mother and sisters!"
"If you wish to make mischief—" began Nigel.
"I'm not going to make mischief. Don't you know me better? Such things have to be, of course; and I always find them out before anybody else. You are getting to the correct age for the epidemic; but you may trust me not to speak. I'm not anxious to break the madre's heart sooner than need be. I don't mean that she would object to Ethel more than to anybody else—particularly—so you need not look at me like that. It's the fact of anybody that will be the rub; and of course you can't be expected to live a life of celibacy on her account. Ethel is a nice enough girl—at least, I suppose so. I never feel that I know her; but that may be my own fault. However, it is time we should both be in bed, so good-night."
She allowed no opportunity for another brotherly salutation, but retreated with a mocking smile. "Go and dream of Ethel; only don't look doleful," she said. Then she mounted deliberately the shallow oak stairs, warbling a ditty by the way till her room was reached, and the door was locked. Warbling ceased when she found herself alone.
Fulvia turned on the gas jet over the dressing-table and pulled out a supply of hairpins, letting down her hair. It rippled over her shoulders, reaching her waist, and sparkling where the light touched it. Fulvia stood gazing at her own reflection with folded arms, bare below the elbows.