"How many brothers and sisters has Graham got?" enquired Lily hastily.
"There were two or three kids knocking about, and a girl with her hair up. She's the eldest."
"Oh, Jean Graham. I think I met her in the Park one day—rather pretty, with fair curly hair."
"Oh," said Kenneth indifferently. But the thought appeared to awaken some association. "I say, Lily, who do you know with carrotty hair?"
"I don't know. Heaps of people. Nobody in particular. What do you mean, exactly?"
"Somebody who's a friend of your old man's. At least——"
"That's not at all a nice way of talking, Kenneth," said his father gravely. "Apologize to your sister."
"No, never mind, Father," Lily interposed.
She remembered, with curious detachment, the two little girls, Vonnie and Lily—who had always been so gentle and respectful in their speech, knowing quite well that anything else would offend the susceptibilities of Father and Mother most terribly.
"It's most disloyal to speak in that rude, foolish way of a near relation—and one who has been so kind to you, too," Philip told the boy.