But the snort was no admission of defeat.
"In my opinion—if it counts for anything," she persisted, "this harum-scarum state of things is quite as bad for the children as for the birds. I suppose you have a glimmering concern for the boy's future, as heir to the old place?"
Nevil Sinclair chuckled.
"By Jove! That's quite a bright idea. Really, Jane, you've a positive flair for the obvious."
(Roy hugely wanted to know what a "flair for the obvious" might be. His eager brain pounced on new words as a dog pounces on a bone.)
"I wish I could say the same for you," Lady Roscoe retorted unabashed. "The obvious, in this case—though you can't or won't see it—is that the boy is thoroughly spoilt, and in September he ought to go to school. You couldn't do better than Coombe Friars."
His father said something quickly in a low tone and he couldn't catch Aunt Jane's next remark. Evidently he was to hear no more. What he had heard was bad enough.
"I don't care. I jolly well won't," he said between his teeth—which looked as if Aunt Jane was not quite wrong about the spoiling.
"No, don't," said Tara, who had also listened without shame. And they hurried on in earnest.
"Tara," Roy whispered, suddenly recalling his quest. "I found the Golden Tusks. I'll tell it you after."