"Only saw him once—at Robin Hill, when we were home in 1909; he was naked and painted blue and yellow in stripes—a jolly little chap."
Winifred thought that "rather nice," and added comfortably: "Well, Holly's sensible; she'll know how to deal with it. I shan't tell your uncle. It'll only bother him. It's a great comfort to have you back, my dear boy, now that I'm getting on."
"Getting on! Why! you're as young as ever. By the way, that chap Profond, Mother, is he all right?"
"Prosper Profond! Oh! the most amusing man I know."
Val grunted, and recounted the story of the Mayfly filly.
"That's SO like him," murmured Winifred. "He does all sorts of things."
"Well," said Val shrewdly, "our family haven't been too lucky with that kind of cattle; they're too light-hearted for us."
It was true, and Winifred's blue study lasted a full minute before she answered:
"Oh! well! He's a foreigner, Val; one must make allowances."
"All right, I'll use his filly and make it up to him, somehow."