"Father," protested Théo, blushing scarlet in quick French sympathy for the strange susceptibilities of his English fiancée, "don't!"
Brigit rose slowly. "I must go and say good night to Tommy," she said. "I shall be down in a few minutes."
Tommy was in bed, reading a very large book by the light of an electric lamp.
"What have you got there?" his sister asked, lying down by him and pressing her face to the cool pillow.
"Oh, nothing. I just thought I ought to know something about—Amatis. It's very interesting," he returned solemnly, and then burst out: "Oh, Bick, isn't he simply glorious!"
"Yes, Tommy."
"There was never anyone like him. Not only the fiddling, but—everything. Don't you think so? Don't you, Bicky?" he persisted anxiously.
"Yes, Tommy, dear."
"I do think you the luckiest girl in the whole world. Just fancy being his daughter."
"Yes, Tommy."