“That's exactly what makes it difficult for you to look at it all round. That fellow Hughs could make himself quite nasty. I wouldn't give him any sort of chance. I mean to say—giving the girl clothes and that kind of thing—-”
“I see,” said Hilary.
“You know, old man,” Stephen went on hastily, “I don't think you'll get Bianca to look at things in your light. If you were on—on terms, of course it would be different. I mean the girl, you know, is rather attractive in her way.”
Hilary roused himself from contemplation of the ducks, and they moved on towards the Powder Magazine. Stephen carefully abstained from looking at his brother; the respect he had for Hilary—result, perhaps, of the latter's seniority, perhaps of the feeling that Hilary knew more of him than he of Hilary—was beginning to assert itself in a way he did not like. With every word, too, of this talk, the ground, instead of growing firmer, felt less and less secure. Hilary spoke:
“You mistrust my powers of action?”
“No, no,” said Stephen. “I don't want you to act at all.”
Hilary laughed. Hearing that rather bitter laugh, Stephen felt a little ache about his heart.
“Come, old boy,” he said, “we can trust each other, anyway.”
Hilary gave his brother's arm a squeeze.
Moved by that pressure, Stephen spoke: