“Married an English nobleman,” he rejoined, with a brevity that spoke volumes.  “I say, what about those cakes?  Hadn’t we better begin?”

Dot turned her attention to the fire.  “I should like to meet your brother,” she remarked.  “I’ve never spoken to a real flesh-and-blood hero in my life.”

“Nothing easier,” said Bertie promptly.  “Come over and have tea.  Come this afternoon, you and Ralph.”

But Dot hesitated in evident doubt.  “I don’t know what Dad would say,” she said.

“Oh, rats!  He wouldn’t mind.  And my mother would be delighted.  Come early and I’ll show you the hunters.  Nap has just bought a beauty.  She’s a blood mare, black as ink.”

“Like Nap,” said Dot absently; then in haste, “No, I didn’t mean that.  I wasn’t thinking.”

Bertie was looking at her shrewdly.  “What do you know about Nap?” he said.

She coloured deeply.  “Nothing, nothing whatever.  I only know him by sight.”

“And you don’t like him?”

“I—­I think he looks rather wicked,” she stammered.

Bertie grunted.  “Do you think I look wicked too?”

“Of course I don’t.  No one could.”

He laughed.  “That’s all right.  You can think what you like of Nap.  Everybody does.  But even he is not all bad, you know.”

“I’m sure he isn’t.  But—­but—­” Desperately Dot turned from the fire and faced him.  “I’ve got to say it, Bertie,” she said rather piteously.  “Please don’t be offended.  You know I—­I’m young.  I don’t know many people.  And—­and—­though I would like to know your eldest brother immensely, I think I won’t come to Baronmead if Nap is there.  My father doesn’t want me to meet him—­unless I am obliged.”

She uttered the last words in evident distress.  Bertie’s face had grown quite serious, even stern.  He was looking at her with a directness which for the first time in their acquaintance she found disconcerting.

He did not speak for several seconds.  At length, “How old are you?” he said abruptly.

“Eighteen,” she murmured.

He continued to look at her speculatively.  “Well,” he said at length, speaking with something of a twang, “I guess your father knows what he’s about, but it beats me to understand why he has me here to study.  I guess I’d better shunt.”

“Oh, please don’t!” she said quickly.  “It isn’t you at all.  It’s only Nap.”

“Damn Nap!” said Bertie, with some fervour.  “Oh, does that shock you?  I forgot you were a parson’s daughter.  Well, it may be your father is right after all.  Anyway, I shan’t quarrel with him so long as he doesn’t taboo me too.”

“He won’t do that,” said Dot, with confidence.  “He likes you.”

Bertie’s good-looking face began to smile again.  “Well, I’m not a blackguard anyway,” he said.  “And I never shall be if you keep on being kind to me.  That’s understood, is it?  Then shake!”

They shook, and Dot realised with relief that the difficult subject was dismissed.