he said. "The world's material, and though there may be abstract principles behind it, yet they are dealing with Tom, Dick, and Harry, and how our application of a principle affects them. Your principle, for instance, of never condemning other people breaks down as soon as their actions begin to affect you."
Edgar was silent a moment.
"The real difference between us," he said, "is, as you said just now, that by your plan you get most fun. I should hardly have called it a plan at all. You have no settled object in life."
"I don't think one is meant to have a settled object in life till one is forty," said the other. "Till then, one ought to experimentalize—try everything."
"With a view to seeing which is the most fun?"
"Exactly, and of doing it ever afterwards. I think it an extremely sound plan. What's yours? No, I needn't ask; I know it already. It is to do your duty and cultivate your mind. Also to cultivate other people's, you know, which I think is rather a liberty. You have no more right to interfere with other people's minds than you have to cut their hair."
Edgar smiled again in a slightly superior manner. In point of fact, he had every right to do so, since he was a little superior.
"There are always two ways in which to put a thing," he said, "the appreciative and the depreciatory. When you tell me that my object is to do my duty and cultivate my mind, you describe my object quite correctly, but use a phraseology that makes it appear priggish. Personally I do not think it priggish to do one's duty, though it no doubt savours of priggishness to say so like that."
"Sorry; I didn't mean to be offensive."
"You weren't; at least, if you did, it was quite unsuccessful. I never take offence, you see."
Charlie got up with a stifled note of impatience.
"No; I wish you did sometimes. You—you wear armour, you know. I wish you would take it off and pawn it. Yes, that's what's the matter with you You aren't greedy; you aren't a liar, or lazy, or a drunkard; you don't lose your temper. I don't think you ever want to behave yourself unseemly. Really, when one comes to think of it, I don't know why I like you so much."
Edgar Brayton had quite unconsciously taken a cigarette again, and as unconsciously, while this list of his virtues was being recited, had lit it. His cousin, with secret glee, had observed
