He kissed her and obeyed.

Edith gave him a cold greeting the next morning at the breakfast-table.

“You mustn’t do that under a misapprehension,” he warned her, when they were alone in the dining-room.

“Do what under a what?” she asked.

“Speak to me.  I came into the smoking-room last night ‘on purpose,’” he told her, gravely.  “I have a prejudice against that young man.”

She laughed.  “I guess you think it means a great deal who you have prejudices against!” In mockery she adopted the manner of one who implores.  “Bibbs, for pity’s sake promise me, don’t use your influence with papa against him!” And she laughed louder.

“Listen,” he said, with peculiar earnestness.  “I’ll tell you now, because—­because I’ve decided I’m one of the family.”  And then, as if the earnestness were too heavy for him to carry it further, he continued, in his usual tone, “I’m drunk with power, Edith.”

“What do you want to tell me?” she demanded, brusquely.

“Lamhorn made love to Sibyl,” he said.

Edith hooted.  “She did to him!  And because you overheard that spat between us the other day when I the same as accused her of it, and said something like that to you afterward—­”

“No,” he said, gravely.  “I know.”

“How?”

“I was there, one day a week ago, with Roscoe, and I heard Sibyl and Lamhorn—­”

Edith screamed with laughter.  “You were with Roscoe—­and you heard Lamhorn making love to Sibyl!”

“No.  I heard them quarreling.”

“You’re funnier than ever, Bibbs!” she cried.  “You say he made love to her because you heard them quarreling!”

“That’s it.  If you want to know what’s ‘between’ people, you can—­by the way they quarrel.”

“You’ll kill me, Bibbs!  What were they quarreling about?”

“Nothing.  That’s how I knew.  People who quarrel over nothing!—­it’s always certain—­”

Edith stopped laughing abruptly, but continued her mockery.  “You ought to know.  You’ve had so much experience, yourself!”

“I haven’t any, Edith,” he said.  “My life has been about as exciting as an incubator chicken’s.  But I look out through the glass at things.”

“Well, then,” she said, “if you look out through the glass you must know what effect such stuff would have upon me!” She rose, visibly agitated.  “What if it was true?” she demanded, bitterly.  “What if it was true a hundred times over?  You sit there with your silly face half ready to giggle and half ready to sniffle, and tell me stories like that, about Sibyl picking on Bobby Lamhorn and worrying him to death, and you think it matters to me?  What if I already knew all about their ‘quarreling’?  What if I understood why she—­” She broke off with a violent gesture, a sweep of her arm extended at full length, as if she hurled something to the ground.  “Do you think a girl that really cared for a man would pay any attention to that?  Or to you, Bibbs Sheridan!”