that Hilary disclaimed it, it did seem a far too abominable thing that he
had implied. He had hurt Hilary; he deserved to be kicked. His anger with
himself rose. To hurt anyone was atrocious; to hurt Hilary unforgivable.
He would have done a great deal now to make amends.

He stammered over it. "I did think, I'm afraid, that you and Cheriton
were doing it to make him happy or something. I'm awfully sorry; I was
an ass; I ought to have known. But it never occurred to me that you
didn't kn--that you had a different opinion of the things. I say,
Hilary--Cheriton knows! I saw him know. He knew, and he was wondering
what I was going to say."

"Knew, knew, knew!" Hilary nervously exploded. "There you go again.
You're intolerable, Peter, really. All the spoiling you've had has gone
to your head."

"I beg your pardon," said Peter again. "I meant, Cheriton agreed with me,
I'm sure.... But, Hilary--those statuettes--you can't really.... They're
mid-Victorian, and positively offensive!" His voice rose shrilly. They
had been so horrible, Diana and Actæon. He couldn't forget them, in their
podgy sentimentality. "And--and that chalice ..." he shuddered over
it--"and--"

"That'll do, thanks," Hilary broke in. "You can say at once that you
disagree with me about everything I admire, and leave it there. But, if
I may ask you, don't say so to Lord Evelyn, if you can resist the
temptation to show me up before him. It will only bother and disturb him,
whichever of us he ends by agreeing with. He's shown that he trusts my
taste more or less, by giving me his paper to edit, and I should think
we might leave it at that."