Ted laughed.
"It was an experiment, I felt," he said. "But I did right."
Kit was silent a moment, for she had just taken a large bite out of new-made bun.
"I think it will be the greatest fun down here," she said. "Poor dear Toby could not have played into our hands more beautifully. The poor child was quite right, and most thoughtful. Stanborough is certainly too much du monde—of the wrong sort, that is to say—in August. He drove us to Aldeburgh. It is on his head. And he actually threatened to telegraph to Jack. I wonder if he would have carried it out. Personally, I don't think he would; but, anyhow, it is all for the best. He couldn't have suited us better. Dear boy, how nice to have such a careful little brother-in-law!"
"He threatened me," said Ted plaintively, "in a loud, angry voice, with 'My name is Massingbird,' and all the rest of it. I told him that to telegraph meant there was a reason for telegraphing, and he had none. Besides, we did not want Jack. He was not part of the plan."
"Jack's nose has grown since he became a financier," remarked Kit. "That is the worst of becoming anything. If you become a pianist, your hair grows. If you become a philanthropist, your front-teeth grow. I never intend to become anything, not even a good woman," she said with emphasis.
"I hope not," remarked Ted.
"Oh, how I hate people who are in earnest about things!" said Kit in a sort of frenzy. "I mean I hate people being in earnest about the things they ought to be in earnest about. One should only take seriously things like one's hair and games and dress. For sheer social hopelessness give me a politician or a divine. Ted, promise me you will never become a divine."
"Not to-day, at any rate," said Ted; "but I shall keep it as a hold over you."