“Does she?” To Robin’s surprise Henry’s face became faintly pink. “Well,” he said, “perhaps if your mother is right that may tide us over until Uncle G. pops off. Something has got to do it. Are there bums in New Zealand?”
“What do you mean? Don’t be common.”
“My innocent old Robin Grey! A bum is a gentleman in a bowler hat who comes to stay until you pay your bills.”
“Henry! How awful!”
“Frightful,” agreed Henry who was watching a hawk.
“I mean how shaming.”
“You soon get used to them. I remember one who made me a catapult when I was home for the holidays. That was the time Uncle G. paid up.”
“But aren’t you ever — ever—”
Roberta felt herself go scarlet and was silent.
“Ashamed of ourselves?”