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"Oh! Oh!" came in protest from Patricia.

"It's true," said Jack, gloomily. "They all do. To her face they say this sort of stuff; and when they're away they make fun of it. They just laugh. I wish she'd give it up."

"I can't believe ..." began Patricia, greatly distressed.

"No, you don't want to." Jack's dark face, already thin, seemed to grow haggard. "Imagine what I feel about it. They shut up a bit when I'm there; but nobody thinks she's really any good. And what's to be the end of it? Can you see? Can't you imagine her going on, fiddling with this and that—water colours and oils—all drunk with her conceit. And then, what? When she's soured and disappointed she'll...." He shrugged. During the speech his temper had risen, and his tone held a stabbing savageness. "They won't care. They never care about human beings, as we do. They'll laugh, and she'll never know it, but she'll think there's a conspiracy against her. She may go all to pieces; she may pull through. Anything may happen. Sometimes I feel inclined to leave her to it; but I've been in love with her for years—since she was a kid; and I feel I just can't let her drop. She hasn't got a friend in the world except me. Not one that cares if she sinks or swims. Look at her purring, and Monty ladling out the lies. Look at it!"