"Do you know what I think, Cyprian?" asked John, lost in admiration for the ingenuity which had lined the channel leading from his sand-castle with practically watertight slates and stones, "I think you've got a Brain."
"So that's what your mother tells Miss Trefusis of you," deduced Cyprian. "By the way, I have an uneasy suspicion that she intended you to address me as 'Uncle.'"
"What for?"
"As a mark of well-deserved respect, I fancy, and in token of my thinning locks."
"You don't look like 'uncle.'"
"Oh, I don't know. Considering I had reached a man's estate when your mother was not much higher than you——"
"Did Mother call you 'Uncle' then?"
"Just you ask her if not why not," advised Cyprian.
John mused awhile.
"Anyhow, I won't," he decided.