He yawned largely and openly.

“I had no idea you could frolic like that, Mike,” he said.  “It was quite a new light on your character.  How did you learn to do it?  It’s quite a new accomplishment.”

Here again the veil was drawn.  Was it last night only that Falbe had played the Variations, and that they had acted charades?  Francis proceeded in bland unconsciousness.

“I didn’t know Germans could be so jolly,” he continued.  “As a rule I don’t like Germans.  When they try to be jolly they generally only succeed in being top-heavy.  But, of course, your friend is half-English.  Can’t he play, too?  And to think of your having written those ripping tunes.  His sister, too—­no wonder we haven’t seen much of you, Mike, if that’s where you’ve been spending your time.  She’s rather like the new girl at the Gaiety, but handsomer.  I like big girls, don’t you?  Oh, I forgot, you don’t like girls much, anyhow.  But are you learning your mistake, Mike?  You looked last night as if you were getting more sensible.”

Michael moved away impatiently.

“Oh, shut it, Francis,” he observed.

Francis raised himself on his elbow.

“Why, what’s up?” he asked.  “Won’t she turn a favourable eye?”

Michael wheeled round savagely.

“Please remember you are talking about a lady, and not a Gaiety lady,” he remarked.

This brought Francis to his feet.

“Sorry,” he said.  “I was only indulging in badinage until lunch was ready.”

Michael could not make up his mind to tell his cousin what had happened; but he was aware of having spoken more strongly than the situation, as Francis knew of it, justified.

“Let’s have lunch, then,” he said.  “We shall be better after lunch, as one’s nurse used to say.  And are you coming to Ashbridge, Francis?”

“Yes; I’ve been talking to Aunt Bar about it this morning.  We’re both coming; the family is going to rally round you, Mike, and defend you from Uncle Robert.  There’s sure to be some duck shooting, too, isn’t there?”

This was a considerable relief to Michael.

“Oh, that’s ripping,” he said.  “You and Aunt Barbara always make me feel that there’s a good deal of amusement to be extracted from the world.”

“To be sure there is.  Isn’t that what the world is for?  Lunch and amusement, and dinner and amusement.  Aunt Bar told me she dined with you the other night, and had a quantity of amusement as well as an excellent dinner.  She hinted—­”

“Oh, Aunt Barbara’s always hinting,” said Michael.

“I know.  After all, everything that isn’t hints is obvious, and so there’s nothing to say about it.  Tell me more about the Falbes, Mike.  Will they let me go there again, do you think?  Was I popular?  Don’t tell me if I wasn’t.”

Michael smiled at this egoism that could not help being charming.

“Would you care if you weren’t?” he asked.