"I expect sometime, of course," he went on with a superior air, "to be a patron of the arts to a certain extent. If the cowboy makes good, and learns to keep his hands off his betters, I may do something for him yet."
Kathleen's risibles were not easily stirred; but now she laughed low, and so heartily that Edgar's inflation over her compliment to his voice became as a pricked balloon. She even wiped away a tear as she ceased.
"Philip Sidney is going to interest the patrons of art," she said at last.
"What makes you so sure?" asked Edgar with a sneer. "His physique?"
"His sketches, his superiority to his circumstances, and his behavior to Eliza," returned Kathleen composedly.
"Great Scott!" exclaimed her brother. "I'd like to see myself saddled with that gargoyle and a wild-cat, in an unfurnished stable on a dismal afternoon."
"Yes, you've shown your sympathy and assistance in a manly and powerful manner," said Kathleen, as the car stopped before the brown-stone front of their home.
"Sarcasm, Miss Fabian," returned her brother, as he assisted her to alight, "is the cheapest and meanest of weapons. Each one to his taste. That state of things suited him. It wouldn't suit me. That's all. It takes all sorts of people to make the world."
Mrs. Fabian was in the drawing-room, and as her children entered she looked up expectantly, then her face fell.
"I told you to bring Phil back with you to tea."