"Well—I just say all that, dear old thing, so you won't think me sidey, you know."
"I don't, Tommy. In fact, I have sometimes observed in you symptoms of almost radical——"
"Don't laugh, Brigit," he broke in with a quaint wave of his hand. "What I mean to say is simply this. I am, although so young, and not very big—the Head of the Family."
This magnificent declaration was so unlike his usual style of conversation that his sister with difficulty refrained from laughing.
"Well, Tommy—yes, there would be no use in my denying that you, not I, are the Earl of Kingsmead. But—your manner is somewhat solemn; surely you are not thinking of marrying?"
The earl's mouth broadened spasmodically, and his eyes gleamed with amusement.
"I say, Bick, if you laugh at me, how on earth am I ever to get it said?"
"All right. Only take some jam and don't terrify me with magnificence. This is the first time to my knowledge that an earl has ever shed the effulgence of his presence in these humble walls——"
Tommy's grandeur gave up the ghost, and with a yell of delight he dived deep into one of the jars and heaped his plate with suspiciously crimson cherry jam.
"Good old Bick! I must have looked an awful little ass. But—well, will you chuck it all and come home?"