Though different enough, perhaps because they were so different, these two brothers had the real affection for each other which depends on something deeper and more elementary than a similarity of sentiments, and is permanent because unconnected with the reasoning powers.
It depended on the countless times they had kissed and wrestled as tiny boys, slept in small beds alongside, refused-to “tell” about each other, and even now and then taken up the burden of each other's peccadilloes. They might get irritated or tired of being in each other's company, but it would have been impossible for either to have been disloyal to the other in any circumstances, because of that traditional loyalty which went back to their cribs.
Preceded by Miranda, they walked along the flower walk towards the Park, talking of indifferent things, though in his heart each knew well enough what was in the other's.
“Cis has been telling me,” he said, “that this man Hughs is making trouble of some sort.”
Stephen glanced a little anxiously at his brother's face; it struck him as looking different, neither so gentle nor so impersonal as usual.
“I can't tell you,” Hilary answered. “Probably not.”
“He must be, old chap,” murmured Stephen. Then, with a friendly pressure of his brother's arm, he added: “Look here, old boy, can I be of any use?”
Stephen took a hasty mental view of his position; he had been in danger of letting Hilary see that he suspected him. Frowning slightly, and with some colour in his clean-shaven face, he said:
“No,” said Hilary, “there's nothing in it, though what there may be if people give me credit for what there isn't, is another thing.”
Stephen digested this remark, which hurt him. He saw that his suspicions had been fathomed, and this injured his opinion of his own diplomacy.
“You mustn't lose your head, old man,” he said at last.
They were crossing the bridge over the Serpentine. On the bright waters, below, young clerks were sculling their inamoratas up and down; the ripples set free by their oars gleamed beneath the sun, and ducks swam lazily along the banks. Hilary leaned over.
“Look here, Stephen, I take an interest in this child--she's a helpless sort of little creature, and she seems to have put herself under my protection. I can't help that. But that's all. Do you understand?”