“What do you mean?”
“I’ve taken a very intense dislike to you. I think you are an absolute low little rotter.”
Eliphalet, on the other side of the piece of scenery, murmured a prayer of thanksgiving.
“You do?” said Kenneth. “Well, if that’s so, you won’t be disappointed. I may not be great shakes in the company, but I can promise to make it none too pleasant a place for you—unless you say you are sorry.”
It was all very ill-conditioned and childish.
“The only thing I’m sorry about,” said Mornice, “is that I didn’t smack your face days ago.” She marched off, the picture of outraged dignity.
And Eliphalet, as a student of nature, reflected that the young man had received a more valuable lesson than all his ’Varsity training had provided, and, when the rancour had abated, would profit very greatly therefrom.
It is always disappointing when one’s opinions prove to be at fault. Possibly this in some measure added to Eliphalet’s cold fury at what took place that evening.
He had gone down earlier than usual and was standing in the wings, watching the Play Scene. Mornice and Kenneth Luke as the Player King and Queen, with arms interlaced, came on to the stage within the stage and began to speak their lines, and there followed the most paltry piece of meanness Eliphalet had ever beheld. A deliberate effort to “queer” a fellow-player.
Seemingly Kenneth Luke had profited nothing by his lesson of the morning and was determined to take it out of his mentor by the unkindest method.