“What’s your name, my pretty dears?” she said, much flattered and embarrassed. “You’re Lord Kersterholme, aren’t you, sir?”
“I’m Kers’ham, ’ess. But I’m Jack,” said the boy with the big black eyes and the yellow locks, cut short over his forehead and falling long on his shoulders.
“And your dear little sister, she’s Lady Beatrix Orme?” said Mrs. Massarene, who had read their names and dates of birth a score of times in her ‘Burke.’
“She’s Boo,” said Jack.
Boo herself stood with her little nose and chin in the air, and her mouth pursed contemptuously. She was ready to discharge herself of scathing ironies on the personal appearance of the questioner, but she resisted the impulse because to indulge it might endanger the restoration of the gold box.
“I am sure you are very fond of your pretty mamma, my dears?” said Mrs. Massarene, wondering why they thus honored her by standing in her path.
Boo shut up her rosy mouth and her big eyes till they were three straight lines of cruel scorn, and was silent.
Jack hesitated.
“We’re very fond of Harry,” he said, by way of compromise, and as in allusion to a substitute.
“Who is Harry?” asked Mr. Massarene, surprised.