"Yes: isn't he a pet?" says Lilian, eagerly, always glad to hear praise of her youthful plunger. "There are very few like him. He is my nearest relative, and you can't think how I love that boy."
"That boy is, I should say, older than you are."
"Ye—es," doubtfully, "so he says: about a year, I think. Not that it matters," says Miss Chesney, airily, "as in reality I am any number of years older than he is. He is nothing but a big child, so I have to look after him."
"You have, I supposed, constituted yourself his mother?" asks Archibald, intensely amused at her pretty assumption of maternity.
"Yes," with a grave nod, "or his elder sister, just as I feel it my duty at the moment to pet or scold him."
"Happy Taffy!"
"Not that he gives me much trouble. He is a very good boy generally."
"He is a very handsome boy, at all events. You have reason to be proud of your child. I am your cousin also."
"Yes?"