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"You have such a vehement manner of
proclaiming the obvious, my dear Dale."
"Oh, rot!" he said. "Here, Rogers, give me some tea--and I think I'll
have some toast and marmalade."
"Haven't you breakfasted?"
A cloud overspread his ingenuous countenance.
"I came down late, and everything was cold and mother was on edge.
The girls are always doing the wrong things and I never do the right
ones--you know the mater--so I swallowed a tepid kidney and rushed off."
"Save for her worries over you urchins," said I, "I hope Lady Kynnersley
is well?"
He filled his mouth with toast and marmalade, and nodded. He is a
good-looking boy, four-and-twenty--idyllic age! He has sleek black hair
brushed back from his forehead over his head, an olive complexion, and
a keen, open, clean-shaven face. He wore a dark-brown lounge suit and
a wine-coloured tie, and looked immaculate. I remember him as the
grubbiest little wretch that ever disgraced Harrow.
He swallowed his mouthful and drank some tea.
"Recovered your sanity?" he asked.


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