“Jock,” said Armine, now fully awake, “I do want to say something.”
“Cut on.”
“If you get out of this and I don’t—”
“Stop that! We’ve got heat enough to last till morning.”
“Will they find us then? These fogs last for days and turn to snow.”
“Don’t croak, I say. I can’t face mother without you.”
“She’ll be glad enough to get you. Please listen, Jock, while I’m awake. I want you to give her and all of them my love, and say I’m sorry for all the times I’ve vexed them.”
“As if you had ever—”
“And please Jock, if I was nasty and conceited about the champagne—”
“Shut up, I can’t stand this,” cried Jock, chiefly from force of habit, for it was a tacit agreement among the elder brothers that Armine must not be suffered to “be cocky and humbug,” by which they meant no implication on his sincerity, but that they did not choose to hear remonstrances or appeals to higher motives, and this had made him very reticent with all except his sister Barbara and Miss Ogilvie, but he now persisted.