“When he’s young,” suggested another.
“Yes, but Eustace is old enough to look after himself,” several agreed.
Meanwhile Marcus looked after Diana. She found him curiously and delightfully old-fashioned—much more so than Aunt Elsie.
She loved to tease him about his collections. “That darling little Ming thing,” she said, with her head on one side, an invitation to correction.
He wished she would speak more reverently of the Chinese—“The Ming thing, as you call it—”
“Darling Ming thing,” interposed Diana, with her head on the other side.
“—As you call it,” went on Marcus, disapproving her attitude of irreverence, “is a thing before which experts bow.”
“Worshipping it as its maker worshipped his ancestors.”
“I wish I could educate you, Diana, to speak wisely, at all events.”
“Is ‘darling little Ming thing’ not wise?” she asked. “Well, now,—let us consider it. If it’s not darling, what is it? You won’t let me call it dear, and it’s not impatient—obstructive—indifferent—argumentative—callous—but it is darling, just darling. Soft to the touch—pleasing to the eye—a very ready-money way of spending. Do you know what you could do with what you paid for that darling little Ming thing?”