"That's right," the young man acquiesced. "We all weighed in—had dinner early on purpose. Jolly place you've got here."
"Won't you sit down?" Rose invited.
The boy squatted promptly at her feet. He wore pink socks and he reeked of scent, yet there was something a little pathetic in his obvious desire to be friendly.
"Are you cramming for anything in particular?" I asked him.
"I was supposed to go in for the Army," was the dubious reply, "but the exams are so jolly difficult. I failed for Sandhurst twice. Now they're trying to get me in at Cambridge so that I can join a cadet corps."
"The exams are so much stiffer since the war," Rose remarked consolingly.
"Are any of your people down here with you?" I enquired.
The boy shook his head.
"I haven't any people to speak of," he confided, "except an uncle I have scarcely ever seen. Another uncle—my father's brother—left me all my money. Sometimes," the young man added, with a queer flash of seriousness which made one forget his socks and his tie and his pimples, "I wish he hadn't."
"It must be awfully nice, though, to feel that you've plenty of time in life for games and all that sort of thing," Rose remarked, with a mild attempt at consolation.