She so rarely called him by his name that the boy felt alarmed.
Pontefract, with his red neck and his short legs, seemed suddenly very
near.

"Isn't there anyone else?" he blurted out, as she led the way towards
the house. "I mean, any other chap with money?"

"No one with as much. And then, he isn't so very bad, Tommy. He's
good-natured. Think of Clandon, or--Negroponte!" Her shudder was
perfectly genuine.

"But Pontefract is so thundering old!"

She made no reply, and after a minute he went on: "What about Théo
Joyselle?"

"My dear child, he is three years younger than I, even counting in bare
years! And in reality I am twenty years too old for him. Silly little
boy, don't bother about me." And her face, as she smiled down at her
brother, was very pleasant as well as very beautiful.

"But he has money----"

She nodded.

"And----"

"How did you know that, imp?"

"Having eyes to see, I saw. And I'd like to be an In-law to Victor