“Now, you see, Tom,” said Mr. Harthouse in conclusion, himself tossing over a rose or two, as a contribution to the island, which was always drifting to the wall as if it wanted to become a part of the mainland: “every man is selfish in everything he does, and I am exactly like the rest of my fellow-creatures. I am desperately intent;” the languor of his desperation being quite tropical; “on your softening towards your sister⁠—which you ought to do; and on your being a more loving and agreeable sort of brother⁠—which you ought to be.”

“I will be, Mr. Harthouse.”

“No time like the present, Tom. Begin at once.”

“Certainly I will. And my sister Loo shall say so.”