“You’d make an awfully good bronze statue, Nino,” he said. “You’d look nice in a museum, covered with verdigris, and with an arm and leg missing. How would you like to be an antique?” “I like better being young,” said Nino. Colin pulled his shirt over his head. “So do I,” he said. “But Time’s a thief, Nino, and you can’t insure against his burglaries.” This was too much for Nino’s English, and he raised a puzzled eye. “You understand what I mean, though you don’t understand what I say,” observed Colin. “Do you believe in God, Nino?” The boy crossed himself. “Si, signor.” “Then why are you such a dreadful bad lot?” asked Colin. “Don’t you know that He will punish you when you’re dead?” Nino shrugged his brown shoulders. “May be,” he said, “but I’m not dead yet.” Colin laughed. “Nor am I,” he said. “But why talk theology before breakfast?” “Scusi!” said Nino. “But who began?” Colin leaned against him as he stepped into his flannel trousers. “I did,” he said. “Do you know, you’re extremely like me, Nino? I think you must be a Stanier. I wonder if the old fellow I’ve been reading about had an Italian mistress from whom you’re descended. We both believe in God, and are determined to go to the devil.... There you are talking theology again, and I told you to shut up!” “I am dumb as a sheep,” said Nino. “Ba-a-a,” said Colin. * * * * * Colin found his menagerie at breakfast, as he came in coatless, with his hair drying back into curls again, and his shirt open at the neck, with sleeves rolled up to his elbow. There was Aunt Hester, looking, so he thought to himself, like some aged hag under the delusion that it was still spring-time with her, the absurd old woman with her short skirt and girlish blouse, and beribboned hat. And there was Uncle Ronald, bleary-eyed and unsavoury beyond all words, in a velveteen coat, with his gouty knobbed hand all a-tremble as he lifted his tea-cup. And there was Aunt Margaret, looking, as she always did, as if the bells were ringing for church on Sunday morning, and she was just ready to start.... “I wonder what she finds to accuse herself of in the Confession,” thought Colin: “a want of diligence over her Patience, I suppose....” And there, with face suddenly and involuntarily lit up at his entrance, and as suddenly clouded again, was Violet. “Good morning, everybody,” he said. “I’m late, and I’m not dressed, and I’m not sorry because I’ve been enjoying myself. Darling Aunt Hester, why didn’t you come down to bathe? You would make the most seductive water-nymph. And why has nobody got a complexion like yours? Give me a kiss, if you don’t mind my being unshaved.” “Face like a peach,” said Hester. “Talk of complexions----”