Constance laughed again, but rather angrily.

“Why should I hate him, please?  He’s extraordinarily clever—­”

“Yes, but such a snob!” said Nora, setting her white teeth.  Connie sprang up in bed.

“Nora, really, the way you talk of other people’s friends.  You should learn—­indeed, you should—­not to say rude and provoking things!”

“Why should it provoke you?  I’m certain you don’t care for him—­you can’t!” cried Nora.  “He’s the most hectoring, overbearing creature!  The way he took possession of you the other day at the boats!  Of course he didn’t care, if he made everybody talk about you!”

Constance turned a little white.

“Why should anybody talk?” she said coldly.  “But really, Nora, I must turn you out.  I shall ring for Annette.”  She raised herself in bed.

“No, no!” Nora caught her hand as it stretched out towards the bell.  “Oh, Connie, you shall not fall in love with Mr. Falloden!  I should go mad if you did.”

“You are mad already,” said Constance, half laughing, half furious.  “I tell you Mr. Falloden is a friend of mine—­as other people are.  He is very good company, and I won’t have him abused—­for nothing.  His manners are abominable.  I have told him so dozens of times.  All the same, he amuses me—­and interests me—­and you are not to talk about him, Nora, if you can’t talk civilly.”

And looking rather formidably great-ladyish, Constance threw severe glances at her cousin.

Nora stood up, first on one foot, then on the other.  She was bursting with things to say, and could not find words to say them in.  At last she broke out—­

“I’m not abusing him for nothing!  If you only knew the horrid, rude things—­mean things too—­at dances and parties—­he does to some of the girls I know here; just because they’re not swells and not rich, and he doesn’t care what they think about him.  That’s what I call a snob—­judging people by whether they’re rich and important—­by whether it’s worth while to know them.  Hateful!”

“You foolish child!” cried Connie.  “He’s so rich and important himself, what can it matter to him?  You talk as though he were a hanger-on—­as though he had anything to gain by making up to people.  You are absurd!”

“Oh, no—­I know he’s not like Herbert Pryce,” said Nora, panting, but undaunted.  “There, that was disgusting of me!—­don’t remember that I ever said that, Connie!—­I know Mr. Falloden needn’t be a snob, because he’s got everything that snobs want—­and he’s clever besides.  But it is snobbish all the same to be so proud and stand-off, to like to make other people feel small and miserable, just that you may feel big.”

“Go away!” said Constance, and taking up one of her pillows, she threw it neatly at Nora, who dodged it with equal skill.  Nora retreated to the other side of the door, then quickly put her head through again.

“Connie!—­don’t!”