"Oh, ye're not even logical to-day, Tora," Dennehy complained, "which I will admit you sometimes are, according to your wrong-headed principles. Ye call the man a brute or a cur, and this and that—oh, ye meant Godfrey! What's the man done that he hadn't a right to do on your own showing? His manners were bad, maybe."
"It's our own showing that we're now engaged in examining, if you'll permit us, Dick," Stephen rejoined imperturbably. "When a man's considering whether he's been wrong, it's a pity to scold him; because the practice is both rare and laudable."
"Oh, you mustn't even consider whether I've been wrong, Stephen," Winnie cried. "Wrong in principle, I mean. As to the particular person—but I don't want to abuse him, poor fellow. His environment——"
"That's a damnable word, saving your presence," Dennehy interrupted. "Nowadays whenever a scoundrel does a dirty trick, he lays it to the account of his environment."
"But that's just what I meant, Dick."
"Say the devil, and ye're nearer the mark, Winnie."
"Environment's more hopeful," Stephen suggested. "You see, we may be able to change that. Over your protégé we have no jurisdiction."
"He may have over you, though, some day! Oh, I'll go for a walk, and clear my head of all your nonsense."
"Don't forget you promised to take me to the station after tea," said Winnie.
"Forget it!" exclaimed Dick Dennehy in scorn indescribable. "Now will I forget it—is it likely, Winnie?" He swung off into the house to get his walking-stick.