(Roy hugely wanted to know what a "flair for the obvious" might be. His
eager brain pounced on new words as a dog pounces on a bone.)

"I wish I could say the same for you," Lady Roscoe retorted unabashed.
"The obvious, in this case--though you can't or won't see it--is that
the boy is thoroughly spoilt, and in September he ought to go to school.
You couldn't do better than Coombe Friars."

His father said something quickly in a low tone and he couldn't catch
Aunt Jane's next remark. Evidently he was to hear no more. What he had
heard was bad enough.

"I don't care. I jolly well won't," he said between his teeth--which
looked as if Aunt Jane was not quite wrong about the spoiling.

"No, don't," said Tara, who had also listened without shame. And they
hurried on in earnest.

"Tara," Roy whispered, suddenly recalling his quest. "I _found_ the
Golden Tusks. I'll tell it you after."

"Oh, Roy, you are a wonder!" She gave his hand a convulsive squeeze and
they broke into a run.

The "bits of blue" had spread half over the sky. The thunder still
grumbled to itself at intervals and a sharp little shower whipped out of
a passing cloud. Then the sun flashed through it and the shadows crept
round the great twin beeches on the lawn--and the day was as lovely as
ever again.