"Don't know her yet. But about the worm. Probably there will be a row. You've got to frighten him away, remember that. Worms are always nervous."
"There'll be a row afterwards with Kit, I'm afraid," said Toby.
"Oh, certainly. But it's all for her good. Introduce me when she comes, and I'll say I have been her guardian angel."
Toby looked at Buck's strong brown face for a moment in silence.
"You'd look nice with wings and a night-shirt," he remarked. "Pity Raphael or one of those Johnnies isn't alive."
"If by Johnnies you refer to the Italian school of painters," said Buck, "it isn't worth while saying so."
"I know; that's why I didn't say so. Good-bye; I'm off to the Links Hotel. Dinner at eight."
Lord Comber was in, and would Toby come up to his sitting-room? He met him at the top of the stairs, like a perfect hostess, and took him down the broad passage, stopping once opposite a big glass to smooth his carefully-crimped hair. Then he took Toby's arm, and Toby bristled, for he did not thrust his hand inside the curve of his elbow and let it lie there, but inserted it very daintily and gently, as if he was threading a needle, with a slight pressure of his long fingers.
"It's quite too delightful to see you, Toby," he said; "and how splendid you are looking! I wish I could get as brown as that. You must let me do a sketch of you. Yes, I'm here all alone, and I've been terribly bored. I wonder if your mother would allow me to come and see her. Is Miss Murchison there, too?"
"Yes; she came a couple of days ago."