Kingcote gave his assent to the proposal that he should drive with the ladies and witness the meet. They promised to take him up at the junction of the old and the new roads.
He talked with Mrs. Stratton in the drawing-room after luncheon. Edgar came and reclined on the carpet, resting his head against his mother.
“Get up, sir!” Mrs. Stratton addressed him. “I won’t have this laziness after meals. Look at him, Mr. Kingcote; don’t you think it high time he was packed off to school again?”
“Well, I shan’t be sorry,” observed the youth, reluctantly rising to his feet.
“I suppose you are eager to get back to cricket?” said Kingcote.
“Cricket! Why, you don’t play cricket this time of year!” cried Edgar, with scornful laughter.
“Indeed? What is the game, then? Football?”
“I should think so.”
“You must mend your manners, Edgar,” observed his mother. “Now run out into the garden, and don’t trouble us. His body is getting rather too much for him,” she continued playfully to Kingcote. “He must get back to his fagging. I wouldn’t for the world send a boy of mine to a school where there was no fagging.”
“Capital thing, no doubt,” said Kingcote. “He’s a fine boy.”