"Oh, dear—it is poor Ponty!" ejaculated the girl, involuntarily turning to Joyselle.
"Poor——"
"Lord Pontefract, Théo. Oh, how tiresome of mother!"
Joyselle frowned. "Do not call your mother tiresome," he said shortly. "But who is this gentleman?"
Théo stood silently looking on. It was plain that it seemed to him quite fitting that his father should arrange the matter.
"Lord Pontefract—a friend of—of ours," stammered Brigit, abashed by the reproof as she had not been abashed for years.
"And do you want to see him?"
"No, no; I certainly do not want to see him."
"Then I will go and tell him so."
"No, no. I—I had better go, don't you think, Théo?"