Alfred grinned deprecatingly.
Instantly the Squire’s voice grew testy.
“What d’ye mean, sir, by your ‘seven, no eight’?”
“I forgot my twin brother, Sir Geoffrey, him as died afore I was christened. I was only a lil’ baby at the time.”
“Yes, yes, I remember. Sad affair. Diphtheria. Cost me a pretty penny. Drains—damn ’em.”
For a moment silence imposed itself, broken by the soft, coaxing voice of Prudence.
“And—eugannicks, Sir Geoffrey?”
The Squire pulled himself together, inflating his chest, astride a favourite hobby. He began glibly enough:
“Drains, my girl, are a vital part of eugenics, but it begins—it begins——Um! It’s not easy to make myself perfectly plain to a young girl.”
Alfred grinned again, Prudence said reflectively: