"Cornelius!" cried Humphrey, suddenly stopping and bringing his fist with a bang upon the table.
"Humphrey!" cried his brother, exactly imitating his gesture.
Their faces glared into each other's; Cornelius, as usual, wrapped in his long dressing-gown, his shaven cheeks purple with passion; Humphrey in his loose velvet jacket, his white lips and cheeks, and his long silken beard trembling to every hair.
It was the first time the brothers had ever quarrelled in all their lives. And like a tempest on Lake Windermere, it sprang up without the slightest warning.
They glared in a steady way for a few minutes, and then drew back and renewed their quick and angry walk side by side, with the table between them.
"To bring up the old German business!" said Cornelius.
"To taunt me with the Roman girl!" said Humphrey.
"Will you keep your engagement like a gentleman, and marry the girl?" cried the Poet.
"Will you behave as a man of honour, and go to the Altar with Phillis Fleming?" asked the Artist.
"I will not," said Cornelius. "Nothing shall induce me to get married."