The mention of Phil was unfortunate, and awoke in Mr. Beresford a feeling of bitter jealousy which made him say things he would have given worlds to unsay when it was too late to do so.
“Phil!” he repeated, sneeringly. “Yes, I see; I understand; Phil is my rival, and I might have known it. Women always prefer idlers like him, who have—” he stopped suddenly, checked by the expression of the black eyes confronting him so steadily, and growing so fierce and bright, as the girl said:
“Well, go on. You did not finish. You said ‘idlers like him, who have—’ Have what? I insist upon knowing what you mean. What is it Phil has which you have not?”
Her tone and manner made him angry, and he answered at last:
“He has plenty of time at his disposal to make love to you; he has nothing else to do, and women like men with no aim, no object in life; nothing to do but to play the Sardanapalus.”
“Mr. Beresford,” and Reinette’s eyes blazed with scorn, “I did not dream you were so mean—so dastardly. Idler as you say he is, Phil Rossiter would cut his tongue out sooner than it should say a word against you, his friend, were you a thousand times his rival; and you, in your foolish jealousy, accuse him of wearing women’s dresses, and spinning, and—”
“Queenie, I did nothing of the sort,” Mr. Beresford said, interrupting her, and she continued:
“Yes, you did. You likened him to Sardanapalus, which is the same thing, and I hate you for it!”
“Not more than I hate myself,” Mr. Beresford said, for he was beginning to be very much ashamed of the weakness which prompted him to speak against Phil Rossiter, whom he liked so much. “Forgive me, Queenie; it was unmanly—cowardly in me to attack my rival, and nothing but cruel disappointment and bitter pain could have induced me to do it. Phil is my friend, and the most unselfish, kind-hearted fellow in the whole world. Can you forgive me for saying aught against him?”
Queenie knew he was in earnest, and, as ready to forgive as to take offense, she answered at once: