"Probably," he said aloud.
"Aren't you sure of it?"
"Er—I was thinking of something else."
"That," she said emphatically, "is what I don't allow."
He looked at her rather sternly, bending his head so that the eye behind the monocle was full on her. She would never be as charming as her mother, he reflected, and with a start, he straightened himself on the thought, for he seemed to hear that remark being uttered by dull old gentlemen at their clubs. It was a thing not to be said: it dated one unmistakably, though in this case it was true.
"We must have a talk."
"A serious one?"
"Yes."
She looked at him nervously, regardless of her effect. "Will you mind taking care of me?" she asked in a low voice.
"My dear child—no."