"I say, Bick----"
"Hello, little boy, what's the matter?"
Tommy shrugged his shoulders in close imitation of Joyselle.
"I don't know, but something is. Very. It's--Theo!"
She started. "Theo? He isn't ill, is he?"
"No, no. He's downstairs; wants to see you. There's been some kind of a
row in Golden Square. _Petite mere_ and the Master have been talking for
an hour, as hard as ever they can talk, and Theo is upset, and the
Master has gone off in a tearing rage--do go down and find out, Brigit,
and then come back and tell me."
Lord Kingsmead's pristine curiosity regarding everything with which he
came into contact had by no means suffered eclipse since he had been
living in London.
Devoted as he was to Joyselle and to his music, the little boy's passion
for knowledge of all kinds seemed to increase, and there was in his
small, pale, pointed face a strained, overkeen look that troubled his
sister at times. Now, however, she had no leisure to think of it, and
hurried downstairs to the drawing-room, where she found Theo walking
restlessly up and down.
"Brigit," he burst out abruptly, as she came in, "when will you marry
me?"
"Good gracious, Theo--what--what has put that into your head?" she
parried ineffectively, sitting down, as he did not offer to give her any
further greeting.
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