"Of course, I shan't say anything if you'd rather I didn't," Paul remarked magnanimously, "but I thought if I just mentioned a grown-up gentleman did it they couldn't be so down on me! ... But I truly won't if you'd rather not. I guessed you did it the minute I saw you."
"I'm quite certain neither of us ought to," said the man, "but it is a temptation ... when the conversation is dull."
"It's often jolly dull," Paul groaned—and at that moment a gong sounded.
"That's for luncheon," said the man. "Are you hungry?"
"I'm starving, and do you think there will be any little bits for Thor?"
"Sure of it," said the man. "Would you like to wash? And do you require any ... assistance?"
The man looked down at Paul; he had to look rather a long way, for Paul was very small for his age. Perhaps it was that made him ask. Anyway Paul was not offended.
"I can wash all right," he said, "but nurse generally gives my hair a bit of a do—but if you don't mind I don't."
They went up some steps and through a glass door into another room—more like other people's rooms this—tidy and arranged like other drawing-rooms, then across the hall to the dining-room, where an elderly parlour-maid with a kind face put a fat book on Paul's chair to make it high enough.
He was desperately hungry, and the lunch was very good, but he couldn't have enjoyed it as much if the kind-looking parlour-maid had not brought a big plate of scraps for Thor, and spread a duster under it.