“What’s Oxford?” she asked curiously.
“Oh!—er—it’s a place where you go to learn to look down on everybody who isn’t as good as yourself,” he answered, first with hesitation, then with decision. “There’s another place called Cambridge where you can go to learn the same thing,” he added as an afterthought.
“But—it’s not a good thing to learn, is it?”
“Of course. If one is a gentleman one must know it, and let other people know it too.”
“What do you mean by big game?” she asked next.
“Tigers and elephants,” he answered, his eyes sparkling.
“And could you really shoot a tiger?”
“Of course. Just lend me that old cat, and I’ll show you how it’s done,” he said, springing up. But all Deborah’s instincts revolted at the thought.
“No, indeed,” she cried, and put as much of her two hands over it as would go for protection.
“I won’t hurt it. Just you lend it to me and I’ll—”