"I won’t if I don’t want to," said Penelope. "But you’re a boy, Bob, and don’t understand these things." Bob snorted and smiled, not unsubtly. "Oh, Pen, don’t be like grandmother. I understand pretty nearly everything now. Granny’s always saying that, and it’s jolly rot. You can’t be like me, turned out of three schools, and not know something. Are you going to get married soon?" Pen shook her head. "She’s very savage at your knowing that Jew cad, Gordon, but grandfather isn’t. He says that Gordon may be a Jew, of course, but he’s all right. I asked him if I could get put on a board as a director, and he was so mad with me. I think Gordon’s asked him to be a director, and he’d like to only he daren’t. He’s got none too much money, you know, Pen. But about all these chaps, Pen?" He went through the horde seriatim, and pronounced upon them all with ineffable wisdom. "Goby’s an ass, but a good ass, Pen," he said, as he kicked with his legs. "He gave me a thick-un a year ago when I was in difficulties. But he hasn’t the brains to make a good corporal. Baker says that. Baker was a sergeant in the Dublin Fusiliers. I like Plant, though, Pen. Baker says he rides in a rummy fashion, more like a circus man than anything else, but he can stick to a horse. And there’s your Frenchman. I say, how does he come to be called Rivaulx? Was he called after Rivaulx in Yorkshire, or was it called after him? Ask him if he shoots larks in his native country. All Frenchmen do, old Guth says. He says he read a book the other day in which a French priest says he never sees a lark without wanting to shoot it. What a miserable rotter, wasn’t he? But Rivaulx isn’t so bad, though. He’s a gentleman, at any rate, though he is French. I say, why do foreigners never look like gentlemen? Dashed if I know. I’ve often wondered, because grandfather likes them, through his having been an ambassador. Sometimes a German does, though. And Bramber’s all right, Pen. I don’t think I’d mind your marrying him." "I won’t marry any one who isn’t a useful citizen," said Pen. "He’s all right," urged Bob. "He’s as strong as a bull. Baker says he’d peel better than most prize-fighters. What is a useful citizen? I say, if you get married, you’ll tell me who it is?" "No," said Penelope. "I call that mean," said Bob. "I’d not tell any one, and I’d help like fun." "I’m sure you would, Bob. But I may never get married." "Rot," said Bob, "a girl like you not get married! Oh, I say!" And he continued to say for some hours, and proved himself most entertaining company, quoting Baker, who had been a sergeant in the Dublin Fusiliers, and had been very severely knocked about by Jem Mace, and appealing to Mr. Guthrie, who came over with him to get him to look at a book in the mornings, to back him up. He was really very modest and gentlemanly, at the same time that he was exceedingly bumptious and arrogant, after the best manner of the extremely healthy English boy.