"He's ten and a half. And he looks bigger'n that. He goes to school. And
he's been quite a lot in India."

"Not my India."

"I don't know. He called it 'Mballa. That letter I brought from Mummy
was asking if she could bring them for tea."

"Well, I don't want him for tea. I don't like your Boy-on-a-visit. I'll
tell Mummy."

"Oh, Roy--you mustn't." She made reproachful eyes at him. "Coz then _I_
couldn't come. And he's quite nice--only rather lumpy. And you can't not
like someb'dy you've never seen."

"_I_ can, I often do." The possibility had only just occurred to him. He
saw it as a distinction and made the most of it. "Course if you're going
to make a fuss----"

Tara's eyes opened wider still. "Oh, Roy, you _are_----! 'Tisn't me
that's making fusses."

Though Roy knew nothing as yet about woman and the last word, he
instinctively took refuge in the masculine dignity that spurns descent
to the dusty arena when it feels defeat in the air.

"Girls don't never fuss--do they?" he queried suavely. "Let's get on
with the Game and not bother about your Boy-of-ten."