“Your father? Why?”
“Why—at his age!”
The last words were full of boyish contempt.
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do. To be like that at his age. What’s the good? As if—” He smiled slowly at her. “I’m glad I’m young,” he said.
“I’m glad you’re young too,” she answered. “But you’re quite wrong about Sir Donald.”
She let her eyes rest on his. He shook his head.
“No, I’m not. I guessed it that day at the Carlton. All through lunch he looked at you.”
“But what has all this to do with Miss Schley’s performance?”
“Because she’s something like you, but low down, where you’d never go.”