"As my secretary," he felt, "Miss Hamilton is more at home in my house than Beatrice is. I suppose, though, that like everything else I have my relations are going to take possession of her now."
"Where did you pick up your lady-help?" James asked, when he and his brother were left alone with the wine.
"If you're alluding to Miss Hamilton," John said, sharply, "I met her on board the Murmania, crossing the Atlantic."
"I never heard any good come of traveling acquaintances. She has a good complexion; I suppose she took your eye by not being seasick. Beware of women with good complexions who aren't seasick, Johnnie. They always flirt."
"Are you supposed to be warning me against my secretary?"
"Any woman who finds herself at a man's elbow is dangerous. Nurses, of course, are the most notoriously dangerous—but a secretary who isn't seasick is nearly as bad."
"Thanks very much for your brotherly concern," said John, sarcastically. "You will be relieved to hear that the relationship between Miss Hamilton and myself is a purely practical one, and likely to remain so."
"Platonism was never practical," James answered with a snort. "It was the most impractical system ever imagined."
"Fortunately Miss Hamilton is sufficiently interested in her work and in mine not to bother her head about the philosophy of the affections."
James was irritating when he was criticizing contemporary literature; but his views of modern life were infuriating.