“When did she call me a brute? It’s a lie!” said George, sharply.
“It’s not a lie! She said you and Harry were both brutes; and, by Jove, she was right!”
George raised his fist, but dropped it with an ostentatious self-restraint.
“You are a privileged person,” said he, coolly.
Stephen sprung forward and struck him in the face; but George remained as irritatingly quiet as ever.
“But you shouldn’t presume upon your advantages. You can tell lies as other gentlemen may not do, and you can strike a man without getting struck back; but you can’t expect to hold your own with a woman against me, or even Harry. It’s absurd!”
“What do you mean by ‘even Harry?’” asked the third brother, savagely.
“What I mean by it in this case is that, by a little careful management you might have got the tête-à-tête you wanted with pretty Miss Lane, but that, if I had stepped in, not all the management in the world would have availed you to get what you wanted.”
“You think yourself irresistible?”
“No, I don’t. But I think I know more about women than you do; and I’m not quite such a cub as to think I can impress a woman favorably by merely staring across the dinner-table at her and insulting everybody who is civil to her.”