life.  An intellectual adversary they could have combated; this huge brogue-burring engine quite overwhelmed them.  Wilfrid’s worse than shameful behaviour was a common rallying-point; and yet, so absolutely critical were they by nature, their blame of him was held mentally in restraint by the superior ease of his manner as contrasted with their own lamentably silly awkwardness.  Highly civilized natures do sometimes, and keen wits must always, feel dissatisfied when they are not on the laughing side:  their dread of laughter is an instinctive respect for it.

Dinner brought them all together again.  Wilfrid took his father’s seat, facing his Aunt Lupin, and increased the distress of his sisters by his observance of every duty of a host to the dreadful intruder, whom he thus established among them.  He was incomprehensible.  His visit to Stornley had wrought in him a total change.  He used to like being petted, and would regard everything as right that his sisters did, before he went there; and was a languid, long-legged, indifferent cavalier, representing men to them:  things made to be managed, snubbed, admired, but always virtually subservient and in the background.  Now, without perceptible gradation, his superiority was suddenly manifest; so that, irritated and apprehensive as they were, they could not, by the aid of any of their intricate mental machinery, look down on him.  They tried to; they tried hard to think him despicable as well as treacherous.  His style was too good.  When he informed Mrs. Chump that he had hired a yacht for the season, and added, after enlarging on the merits of the vessel, “I am under your orders,” his sisters were as creatures cut in twain—­one half abominating his conduct, the other approving his style.  The bow, the smile, were perfect.  The ladies had to make an effort to recover their condemnatory judgement.

“Oh!” cried Mrs. Chump; “and if you’ve got a yacht, Mr. Wilfrud, won’t ye have a great parcel o’ the arr’stocracy on board?”

“You may spy a title by the aid of a telescope,” said Wilfrid.

“And I’m to come, I am?”

“Are you not elected captain?”

“Oh, if ye’ve got lords and real ladies on board, I’ll come, be sure of ut!  I’ll be as sick as a cat, I will.  But, I’ll come, if it’s the rroon of my stomach.  I’d say to Chump, ’Oh, if ye’d only been born a lord, or would just get yourself struck a knight on one o’ your shoulders,—­oh, Chump!’ I’d say, ‘it wouldn’t be necessary to be rememberin’ always the words of the cerr’mony about lovin’ and honourin’ and obeyin’ of a little whistle of a fella like you.’  Poor lad! he couldn’t stop for his luck!  Did ye ask me to take wine, Mr. Wilfrud?  I’ll be cryin’, else, as a widde should, ye know!”