ill strong, but this was not her
Gerald Carron. This was a new man of whom she knew little. For this much
wisdom she had learned: that every new love makes a new man of a man.

And this Carron, with his wild eyes, was no person to confide in.

"Come, buck up, old thing," she said, with an affectation of brusque
good-humour: "you haven't been sleeping. Isn't that it?"

"Yes. I'll never sleep any more."

"And you're taking--Veronal?"

"Yes, sometimes. Oh, don't bully me, Tony! I'm--done."

"I should think you were, to come and tell a woman beastly stories about
her own daughter! You'll be sorry to-morrow. Did you tell _her_ this
beautiful idea by way of making yourself engaging?"

"I told her--yes."

"And she didn't knock you down? Upon my word, I am surprised. Now look
here, Gerald; you must go. I'm going to dress. We are going to the
Cassowary's ball. You'd better go to bed and try to sleep _without any
Veronal_. Will you? Will you, Gerry, poor old boy?"

His nerves were in such a condition that this unmerited and unexpected
kindness broke him down utterly. Suddenly, to her horror, the poor
wretch burst into tears, sobbing like a child.

"Gerry, don't--oh, for Heaven's sake, don't!" she cried, laying her hand
on his head. "You--you _mustn't_. Gerry, Gerry dear----"

"Yes, pat his head and call him dear!" cried Brigit furiously from the
open door. "He insults me in the most abominable way, the vile little
beast, and then you pet him. Bah! mother, you do really make me ill!"

Lady Kingsmead turned, amazed. "You are off your head, too! Can't you
see he is _ill_?"

But Brigit's anger, nursed all during the drive home, burst out afresh.
All her life she and her mother had quarrelled; there had never been
implanted in her even an idea of the common decency of filial respect,
or of its semblance. Her mother's gusty, fitful temper had always, when
roused, been given instant vent in a torrent of vituperation, and the
girl, while too sulky to be so spontaneous even in the unpleasant sense
of the word, had early acquired the habit of speaking to her mother as
she would have to a greatly disliked sister.

So now, when her rage with Carron burst its bounds, and she found, as
she thought, her mother taking his part, she gave free rein to her
temper, and its eloquent bitterness struck Lady Kingsmead for the moment
dumb.

Carron sat still, his face hidden in his hands. When at last Brigit's
arraignment ceased, Lady Ki