"I'm not very good at games," the young man confessed. "Mr. Duncombe and his friends are so much better than I am, and they always laugh at me."
"That is a very untutorlike thing to do," Rose declared indignantly.
The young man looked frightened.
"Mr. Duncombe is very good to me—very kind indeed," he repeated, in parrot-like fashion.
"Is he?" Rose queried drily.
"He has no end of people down so that we shouldn't be dull," the young man went on. "There's his sister—she's very kind to me, too. I think I shall have to marry her."
"Why?" Rose asked in bewilderment.
"I think Mr. Duncombe would like me to," was the resigned reply. "I am very fond of Ella. She sings and dances beautifully."
"How old are you?" Rose enquired.
The boy seemed on the point of making another parrot-like reply. Then he chanced to meet the kindly expression in Rose's face as she leaned towards him. He hesitated.