"Now, my charming Lydia, how about that key?"
"I'll 'charming Lydia' you!" was the reply. "I like your impudence!"
"I know you do. You shall have some more when I've time to spare. But now I must really be off. Get me the key, there's a dear girl."
"I can't, then. If you want a latch-key, why don't you go to ma and say so like a man? There it is, and you'd have it directly."
"O most unreasonable Lydia! How many times must I explain to you that that wouldn't do, because your ma, while she possesses many of the charms, is not quite exempt from the weakness of her sex: in short, Lydia, she talks."
"Well, what then? If I were a man I wouldn't be afraid of my sister. I'd be my own master."
"So will I," said Bertie Lisle.
"And I'd say what I meant right out. I would!"
"If you knew there'd be a fuss, and people anxious about you, would you?" He yawned. "No: I'll be my own master, but I like to do things quietly."
"I don't care so much about that," said Lydia, whose feelings were less delicate. To struggle openly for an avowed object seemed to her the most natural thing in the world, and she would have preferred her independence to be conspicuous. She did not understand that with men of Bertie's stamp it is not the latch-key itself, but the unsuspected latch-key, which confers the liberty they love.