we go for a
stroll?"

"A stroll," said Hilary.

Though different enough, perhaps because they were so different, these
two brothers had the real affection for each other which depends on
something deeper and more elementary than a similarity of sentiments, and
is permanent because unconnected with the reasoning powers.

It depended on the countless times they had kissed and wrestled as tiny
boys, slept in small beds alongside, refused-to "tell" about each other,
and even now and then taken up the burden of each other's peccadilloes.
They might get irritated or tired of being in each other's company, but
it would have been impossible for either to have been disloyal to the
other in any circumstances, because of that traditional loyalty which
went back to their cribs.

Preceded by Miranda, they walked along the flower walk towards the Park,
talking of indifferent things, though in his heart each knew well enough
what was in the other's.

Stephen broke through the hedge.

"Cis has been telling me," he said, "that this man Hughs is making
trouble of some sort."

Hilary nodded.

Stephen glanced a little anxiously at his brother's face; it struck him
as looking different, neither so gentle nor so impersonal as usual.

"He's a ruffian, isn't he?"

"I can't tell you," Hilary answered. "Probably not."

"He must be, old chap," murmured Stephen. Then, with a friendly pressure
of his brother's arm, he added: "Look here, old boy, can I be of any
use?"

"In what?" asked Hilary.

Stephen took a hasty mental view of his position; he had been in danger
of letting Hilary see that he suspected him. Frowning slightly, and with
some colour in his clean-shaven face, he said:

"Of course, there's nothing in it."

"In what?" said Hilary again.

"In what this ruffian says."

"No," said Hilary, "there's nothing in it, though what there may be if
people give me credit for what there isn't, is another thing."

Stephen digested this remark, which hurt him. He saw that his suspicions
had been fathomed, and this injured his opinion of his own diplomacy.

"You mustn't lose your head, old man," he said at last.

They were crossing the bridge over the Serpentine. On the bright waters,
below, young clerks were sculling their inamoratas up and down; the
ripples set free by their oars gleamed beneath the sun, and ducks swam
lazily along the banks. Hilary leaned over.

"Look here, Stephen, I take an interest in this chil