"No. She knows I have come, though."
"Some tea?"
"If you please."
So she lit the kettle and going to a cupboard produced two enchanting-looking white jars. "Marmalade or cherry jam?"
"I think—neither, please," returned Kingsmead, with an effort. "I—am not hungry."
It was all very mysterious, and Brigit, scanning the little boy's face, saw that he was nervous as well as important; pale as well as elegant in attire. So she made the tea and gave him a cup in silence.
After a long pause he cleared his throat and began. "Brigit, of course I'm only a kid—and all that sort of thing."
"Yes, dear?"
"And you are grown up, and have a great deal more—well, experience than I. And then you are very beautiful, and I am—not," he added with a flicker of irrepressible mirth that was immediately quenched.
"Yes, Tommy?"