"He did," Hazel said, anticipating the question, again nodding in Paul's direction.
"How many hands?" inquired Francis from below. He had never taken his eyes from Hazel's face.
"Sixteen," she answered promptly.
"What breed?" he inquired further.
"Now, Francis," Phyllis said, "don't begin a lot of your tiresome farming questions. Hazel, how brown it must all look! I suppose one can hardly notice whether your hair is down or not. But why do you have it down for week-ends?"
"The boys," Hazel explained laconically. "It entices them to tease and call me names if I have it up. Besides," she added resignedly, "they only take it down, so what is the use?"
"So should I," observed Francis lazily. "I wouldn't have it up now, if I were Charteris."
"But you look so fearfully young," she complained. "And you must remember that I—I am an engaged wo—, that I am engaged, you know," she amended.
"Perhaps I shall be in four or five years' time," Phyllis said, with a little eager bounce of anticipated pleasure. "Oh, I wish the time would come."
"Phyllis!" poor Doris remonstrated, appalled. "Be young while you can, dear," she urged.