"It's no more than I've heard him call himself," I said.
"You must know him rather intimately."
"On the contrary, I know him very slightly, though I've been thrown
with him considerably."
"Are you not friendly?" she asked.
"We have had differences."
Again the roses did duty. "I fear you are prejudiced," she said, and I
thought I caught a smothered laugh.
"Not at all," I insisted. "I am disposed in his favor."
"So I should judge."
I could not decide which way she meant it. "Oh, he is not all bad," I
condescended. "In many ways he is a good sort of chap."
"Now, that's better." she rejoined; "to say for him what he could not,
of course, say for himself."
I forced back another laugh. "Oh, I don't know why he should not have
said that to a friend," said I.
"It would depend much on the friend."
I did not know if she had given the opening, deliberately, but I took
it.
"Of course, he would say that only to one he felt could understand him."
"You are painting him rather better than you did at first," she
observed.
"I'm warming up to the subject."
"Then suppose you tell me what he looks like."
"That," said I, "is to tell his greatest fault."
"I do not understand."
"He looks like me," I explained.
"How horrible," she laughed.
"He has never ceased to deplore it," I said humbly.
"Surely, he never told you."
"To my face, many times."
"You had good cause for differences, then."
"Thank you, cousin," I said.
"And, may I ask," she went on, "what you did to him at such times?"