et a bit spoilt." He seemed to be referring to the aristocracy.
"But there's plenty of stuff in him, or I'm much mistaken. He's a born
fighter, I think."

"I wonder!" said Mina, her eyes twinkling again.

Finally there was the Major to be walked home with--not a youthful
triumphant Major, but a rather careworn, undisguisedly irritated one. If
Mina wanted somebody to agree with her present mood about Harry
Tristram, her longing was abundantly gratified. The Major roundly termed
him an overbearing young cub, and professed a desire--almost an
intention--to teach him better manners. This coincidence of views was a
sore temptation to the Imp; to resist it altogether would seem
superhuman.

"I should like to cut his comb for him," growled Duplay.

Whatever the metaphor adopted, Mina was in essential agreement. She
launched on an account of how Harry had treated her: they fanned one
another's fires, and the flames burnt merrily.

Mina's stock of discretion was threatened with complete consumption.
From open denunciations she turned to mysterious hintings.

"I could bring him to reason if I liked," she said.

"What, make him fall in love with you?" cried Duplay, with a surprise
not very complimentary.

"Oh no," she laughed; "better than that--by a great deal."

He eyed her closely: probably this was only another of her whimsical
tricks, with which he was very familiar; if he showed too much interest
she would laugh at him for being taken in. But she had hinted before
to-day's annoyances; she was hinting again. He had yawned at her hints
till he became Harry Tristram's rival; he was ready to be eager now, if
only he could be sure that they pointed to anything more than folly or
delusion.

"Oh, my dear child," he exclaimed, "you mustn't talk nonsense. We mayn't
like him, but what in the world could you do to him?"

"I don't want to hurt him, but I should like to make him sing small."

They had just reached the foot of the hill. Duplay waved his arm across
the river toward the hall. Blent looked strong and stately.

"That's a big task, my dear," he said, recovering some of his good-humor
at the sight of Mina's waspish little face. "I fancy it'll need a bigger
man than you to make Tristram of Blent sing small." He laughed at her
indulgently. "Or than me either, I'm afraid," he added, with a
ruefulness that was not ill-tempered. "We must fight him in fair fight,
that's all."

"He doesn't fight fair," she cried angri