"N—no," Kitty's lips droop. "Auntie's made up her party! And oh! I do love polo. We play at home, the boys and I. I've such a pony! Have you got a nice one?"
"A nice one!" Young Golderly grins again; this girl is like a breath of fresh country air blowing across the moorlands. Evidently his name conveys nothing to her.
"I've twenty," he says, laughing.
"Oh, then you're rich! How jolly! If I were rich—"
"Well?" he asks.
Kitty puts her head on one side.
"I'd have hunters; three of them, all my own. Not the boys', which I borrow. And I'd have a motor and drive it; and give Mumsie a new fur coat—hers is old. And I'd have otter hounds."
"Oh, you like that too? Otter hunting," he says eagerly.
"Oh, yes!" Kitty shows a set of strong even teeth. "It's so jolly up in the early mornings when all the grass is washing in dew; and hunting up the rivers; and the dogs working. And then isn't breakfast good?" says Kitty, prosaically. "I'd cook mine on the river bank. I make fine scrambled eggs, and I can toast bacon till it's just sumptuous."
Of course Kitty can have no idea that Golderly has hunted a pack of otter hounds for some years.