I joined in the conversation and laughter with very fair success, but Sibella was in her most aggravating mood. Cynthia Hallward asked Lionel Holland what he wanted to be. Apparently he did not quite know, but some cross-questioning from Sibella elicited the fact that his only definite ambition was for riches.
“My father wasn’t always rich,” he announced; and, to do him justice, his pride in the fact that his father was self-made was the pleasantest trait in his character. “He began without a shilling, and he says that money is nine-tenths of everything, and he ought to know. I wouldn’t give twopence to be anything which didn’t bring in money.”
“Wouldn’t you like to be a lord?” said Sibella, looking at me mischievously.
“It’s quite easy to be a lord if you’re rich enough,” said Lionel.
“Oh, but Israel is going to be a lord. That is to say, when six people die,” laughed Sibella. And there was that peculiar quality in her laugh which when it was turned against myself made me feel cruel towards her.
Lionel Holland laughed too, delighted to assist Sibella in teasing me.
“Israel is always telling us that at school,” he said.
“I’ve only said so once,” I answered, keeping my temper by a violent effort of self-control, “and it’s perfectly true.” I think there must have been something in my voice that warned them to desist, for the subject was allowed to drop.
After tea we adjourned to the school-room. Sibella’s appetite for sweets was insatiable, and she took the most comfortable seat by the fire and proceeded to finish the box of chocolates I had brought her.
“Do you like sweets?” I heard Lionel ask. He was sitting by her side.