“I was not aware that she had one.”
“Tall, bouncing gal,” said George. “Ginger hair.”
“Ginger hair!” said his friend. “Tall, bouncing gal! Do you mean my ward, Miss Perry?”
“Your ward! What d’ye mean, Cheriton?”
“Caroline Crewkerne seems to think,” said Cheriton, coolly, “that I shall serve the best interests of a lonely and unprotected and extraordinarily prepossessing girlhood if I act, as it were, in loco parentis during Miss Perry’s sojourn in the vast metropolis.”
George began to gobble furiously. It was a sign, however, that his mind was working. That heavy and rusty mechanism was very difficult to set in motion.
“If it comes to that,” said he, “I should say I am quite as capable of looking after the gal as you are.”
“A matter of opinion, George, I assure you,” said Cheriton, with genial candor.
“What d’ye mean?”
“For one thing, I am rather older than you. Therefore, in Caroline’s opinion, I am better fitted to occupy the paternal office.”