“Now about the second point,” said Philip; “and that’s Raymond. He’s a sulky, dark fellow, that brother of yours, Colin.”
Colin laughed. “Oh, put all the responsibility on me,” he said.
“Well, what’s to be done with him? He was in the long gallery just now as I came out, and I spoke to him and was civil. But there he lounged, didn’t even take his feet off the window-seat, and wouldn’t give me more than a grunted ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ So I told him what I thought of his manners.”
“Oh, did you? How good for him.”
“Well, I didn’t see why he should sulk at me,” said Philip. “After all, it’s my house for the present, and if he is to quarter himself there, without either invitation or warning, the least he can do is to treat me like his host. I try to treat him like a guest, and like a son, for that matter. Don’t I?”
“Yes, dear father,” said Colin. “You always try.”
“What do you mean, you impertinent boy?”
Colin laughed again. “Well, you don’t always succeed, you know. You cover up your dislike of him....”
“Dislike?”
“Rather. You hate him, you know.”