“Raby, I say, look here!” he began, a day or two afterwards, as he and his cousin were walking together. “What makes you so jolly down on Jeff?”
“I down on Mr Jeffreys? What do you mean?”
“Well, he’s so dismal, I’m certain he’s eating his heart out about you! Why don’t you back him up? He’s a good enough chap and no end of a brick, and say what you will, he meant to fish you out that day on the ice. He went off like a shot directly after the ice cracked.”
“Percy, you ridiculous boy!” said Raby, biting her lips; “how can you talk such nonsense?”
“Oh! but he did,” persisted the boy.
“I’m not talking about the ice,” said she. “Mr Jeffreys and I are very good friends; chiefly on your account, too,” added she, with a vague idea of qualifying her admission.
“Oh, ah, that won’t wash, you know,” said Percy. “Anyhow, it’s nonsense you being so precious stiff with him; I’m sure he’s as good as Scarfe.”
“Percy, if you cannot talk sense,” said Raby, nearly crying with vexation, “I shall not listen to you.”
“Oh, all serene!” responded Percy. “Of course you’re bound to make out it’s all humbug, but I know better. Come, don’t be in a rage, Raby; you forget I’m an invalid.”
So they made it up on the spot, and Percy flattered himself he had done a great deal to make things right for Jeffreys.