“No, dear,” said Lady Kellynch, rather crushed. She had pictured his entrance with some beautiful flowers to please his sister-in-law. “Never mind; it doesn’t matter.”
“Mind you,” said the spoilt boy, standing up, and looking at himself in the glass. “Mind you I should be awfully glad to give Bertha anything she likes. I don’t mind. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll call in at that place in Bond Street, and get her some chocolates.”
“Charbonnel and Walker’s, I suppose you mean,” said his mother.
He smiled.
“They’ll do. Pickering says his brother, who’s an artist, is going to do a historical picture for next year’s Academy on the subject of ‘The First Meeting between Charbonnel and Walker.’”
She looked bewildered.
“Just as you like, my dear. Take her some bonbons if you prefer it. Wait! One moment, Clifford. Bertha hates sweets. She never touches them.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he answered. “I do.”