," she said.
"But some one ought to have told him to grow his hair a little longer.
As it is, it has a fatal suggestion of three years' imprisonment for
assault and battery."

"Or the army," suggested Traill, with a laugh.

She took that well and laughed with him. "Yes, quite so; or the army;
but they don't look so much like convicts as they used to. What do
you think, Miss Bishop? Would you say, to look at him, that James
Brownrigg was a gentleman?"

This, in a period of ten minutes, was the first remark that she had
addressed to Sally. Coming, as it did, after that space of time,
pitched on the casual note, the eyebrows gently lifted, there was
a whip in it that stung across Sally's sensitive cheeks. The words
in themselves, of course, were nothing. Traill, in fact, thought that
this icicle of a sister of his was beginning to thaw, and looked
towards Sally for her answer in encouraging expectancy.

Sally rose to her feet and crossed to the mantelpiece. The spirit
in her prompted her to considered lethargy, as though the remark were
as inconsequent to her as it had been to the maker; but the gentleness
of her nature made it impossible for her to give insult for insult.
Her steps were not slow--they were almost eager--and her lips smiled.
She gave the very impression that she would have died rather than
create--the apparent sense of pleasure in which she felt in being
addressed at all.

For a moment she stood looking into the impassive, brutal face of
James Brownrigg. Her expression was one of studiousness and
consideration; yet the face of James Brownrigg was completely
blurred in her vision. She had to force her eyes to see, and spur
her mind to think. Then she turned, facing Mrs. Durlacher.

"I think if you're going to judge everybody by their outward
appearance," she said, "you certainly might feel inclined to say that
he wasn't a gentleman. But outward appearances always seem to me so
terribly deceptive. I should never let myself be led away by them."

This was a declaration! Even Sally, in her own gentle way, could
declare war. The perfect curve of her upper lip grew thin as she said
it, like a bow that straightens itself after the arrow has sped.
Traill cast a swift glance at her, comprehending that there lay some
meaning behind her words, yet knowing nothing of the duel that was
being fought under his very eyes.

Mrs. Durlacher smiled. She took the thrust as gracefully as she had
given her own.

To