“Uh!” he grinned. “Don’t call me ‘father.’”
“You are ten years older,” she contended, “and—”
“How did you discover that?”
“I asked Edwin.”
“Edwin?”
“Edwin Morris.”
“Oh, your tennis chum. How old is he?”
“Eighteen; only five years older than I.”
“H’m!” he looked at her suspiciously; but she seemed quite guiltless.
“Why mustn’t I sit on the floor, mon p— mon duc, mon prince?”