“No; and I wish you’d talk in plain English and say what you mean, and not build up a rigmarole all round it. Our people at home never do so.”
“Oh, come, I like that!” cried Glyn, laughing. “Why, people out in the East are always, when they want to teach anything, turning it into a fable.”
“Bother fables! Bother the belt! It’s made the whole place seem miserable.”
“Then don’t think about it any more.”
“I can’t help it, I tell you. Why, you owned just now that you were as bad.”
“Not so bad as you are, Singhy. I do try to throw it all aside. You don’t.”
“Ah, it’s very well for you to talk. You haven’t lost something that’s worth nobody knows how much.”
“Well, but never mind; you can afford it. See what a jolly old Croesus you are going to be when you grow up!”
“Bah! How do I know that I am going to be rich?”
“Don’t be a humbug. Why, father has been looking after your revenues for years, and I heard him say once that money was accumulating tremendously during your minority. After all, what’s a belt with some bright stones in it? You could have a dozen more made if you wanted them. But you don’t! Who wants to look pretty like some great girl? The greatest thing in life is to be a man. Father says so, and you know he’s always right.”