"So you're a fresh importation?" Austin said. "I hope you'll like us."
"I like Miss Urquhart already," said Jockie promptly and emphatically. "I adore her! She's—she's so fascinating!"
"Yes," Austin said, cocking his head on one side and regarding Sidney through half-shut eyes; "she is that, and when she sings she's a siren—and when she comforts you she's an angel—and when she scolds you she's a duck!"
"Don't be ridiculous!" Sidney put in. "Have you finished with my pen and paper?"
Austin turned back to his seat, signed his name with a flourish, sealed his envelope, and stuck it in his breast-pocket, which he then patted affectionately.
"Now I'm off to Lovelace's Cottage."
"To leave your note? I saw Mrs. Norman ride by an hour ago."
"I was to have met her at Three Crows Inn. Isn't it scandalous of the parents? Well, what I want you to do is to come up to lunch. I'm to be up to my eyes in business till one. Then it's the workman's dinner hour, and I want you, Sid, to act as a buffer between me and the mother. For she won't remember that a man's digestion plays the dickens with him if he's harried between every mouthful. And bring up Miss—Miss—"
"Jockie," said that young lady, with sparkling eyes. "Oh, I shall be delighted to come, and Cousin John will be more delighted still, for he told me he has always been accustomed to have a luncheon tray brought to him in his study. He doesn't like sitting down to the table with me, and yet he won't dispense with ceremony. I should love to picnic on his study floor with him, and told him so, but he didn't see it."
"Then you come up, and I'll turn you on to mother, whilst Sid and I enjoy ourselves."