"But seriously?" the Tenor persisted.
"Oh, my tutor, you know—Sandhurst—exams—and that kind of thing."
"You are going into the army then?"
But the Boy, smiling, put the question by. The easy, pleasure-loving, sensuous side of his nature was evidently uppermost, and when that was the case it was so natural for him to shirk a disagreeable subject, that the Tenor had not the heart to pursue it further.
"Won't you take your hat off?" he said presently.
The Boy put up both hands to it. "My head's a queer shape," he said, tapping it. "You won't want to examine it phrenologically, will you?"
"No," the Tenor answered, smiling. "Not if you object."
"I do object. I don't like to be touched."
The Tenor, still smiling, watched, him as he carefully removed his hat. His head was rather a peculiar shape. It was too broad at the back, and too large altogether for his slight frame, though probably the thickness of his fluffy light hair, which stood up all over it, innocent of parting as the Tenor's own, added considerably to this last defect. There was nothing so very extraordinary about it, however, and the Tenor did not see why he should be sensitive on the subject, and rather suspected that the boy was gravely poking fun at him; but as he could not be sure of this, and would not have hurt his feelings for the world, he forebore to make any remark.
The Boy glanced round the room. "What a wealthy luxurious fellow you are," he observed.