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To which Philomela invariably retorted: "But suppose every strapping
fellow, at your time of life, should take to novel-reading, and such
fooleries, what would become of the world, I would like to know?"
And her brother, puffing out a long stream of smoke, would respond:
"Suppose, my dear sister, every woman was destined to be an old maid, as
you are, what would become of the world, _I_ would like to know?"
The conversation always terminated at this point, by Philomela declaring
that coarse personality was the refuge of weak-minded people when they
could not answer arguments, and that, for her part, she would never take
the trouble to say another plain, straightforward word for his good;
whereupon there would be a truce, lasting sometimes a whole day.
Fayette Overtop, the second of the three young men--the one looking out
of the window, drumming idly on the glass, and continually tossing back
his head to clear the long black hair from his brow, over which it hung
in an incurable cowlick--was a short, compact, nervous person,
twenty-five years old.


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