interest. Little Peter had said shyly that he did.

"Prefer chaney to cricket?" asked Urquhart's uncle, with his agreeable
laugh that was too attractive to be described as a titter, a name that
its high, light quality might have suggested. But to that Peter said
"No." He had been asked to Astleys for the cricket week; he was going to
play for Urquhart's team. Not that he was any good; but to scrape through
without disgrace (of course he didn't) was at the moment the goal of
life.

Lord Evelyn had seemed disappointed. "If I could get you away from
Denis," he said, "I'll be bound cricket wouldn't be in the 'also rans.'"

And at that moment Denis had sauntered up, and Peter's worshipping regard
had turned from Lord Evelyn's rose bowl to his nephew, and it was Bow
china that was not among the also rans. At that too Lord Evelyn had
laughed, with his queer, closed mirth.

"Keep that till you fall in love," he had inwardly admonished Peter's
back as the two walked away together. "I daresay she won't deserve it any
better--but that's a law of nature, and this is sheer squandering. My
word, how that boy does lake things--and people!" After all, it was
hardly for any Urquhart to condemn squandering.

That was Lord Evelyn, as he lived in Peter's memory--a generous,
whimsical, pleasant crank, touched with his nephew's glamour of charm.

When Peter said, "I rather love him, don't you," Hilary replied, "He's a
fearful old spendthrift."