"Oh, will he?" Noel was radiant. "And I'll have a very big party. Mums will let me. I'll have all the children who live here. I do wish it was Christmas time."
"Oh, don't wish that. We have the lovely summer coming first. All of us are happy in summer-time. The flowers and the bees and butterflies, and the birds and squirrels and rabbits—they all love the warm sunshine. And you will, too."
"I don't like it when the sun is very hot," said Noel thoughtfully; then his thoughts took another turn. "What's a hypercrit?"
"Someone who pretends to be what he is not."
Noel frowned.
"And a 'cocky beggar'? I thoughted beggars were poor ragged men who asked for money: they were in India."
Mr. Wargrave smiled.
"Oh, that's a boy's expression for anyone who thinks a lot of himself. I suppose your brother has been calling you that?"
"If you speak about God at all, you're a hypercrit," said Noel. "I 'spect Chris doesn't know what it means: it's too long a word for him. I'll tell him so. I don't pretend half as much as they do; they're always pretending in their games. Why is it wrong to talk about God?"
"It isn't wrong; it ought to be the natural thing with every one of us. If we love anyone very much, we can't help talking about them. But—"