“But I have got urgent private affairs!” he protested. “You must know I have, Mama! I’ve become a man of substance, in fact: what you might call a well-breeched swell!”

“I shouldn’t call you anything so vulgar! Besides, it isn’t true.”

“How can you say so, when my godfather was so obliging as to leave his fortune to me?” he said reproachfully.

“Is that what you mean? But it isn’t a fortune, Kit! I wish it were—and I must own I thought it would be, for Mr Bembridge was always said to be very well to pass, only it turns out to be no such thing, and he was possessed merely of what Adlestrop, detestable creature, calls a competence. Poor man! I dare say it was not his fault, so you mustn’t blame him!”

“I don’t! A pretty easy competence, Mama!”

“A competence,” stated her ladyship, with conviction, “cannot be described as easy! You are talking like Adlestrop, and I wish you will not!”

Kit was aware that the family’s man of business had never been a favourite with his mother, but these embittered references to him seemed to call for explanation. “What’s Adlestrop done to offend you, Mama?” he asked.

“Adlestrop is a—Oh, let us not talk about him! Such a screw, and so malignant! I can’t think why I mentioned him, except that he told me, when Mr Bembridge died, that there was no occasion for you to come home, because there are no estates in question, or anything you might be obliged to attend to yourself—nothing but those detestable Funds, whatever they may be—and pray don’t tell me, Kit, for you might as well talk gibberish! I perfectly understand that they are holy, and must on no account be touched; and, for my part, I would never invest my money in anything so stupid!”

“Of course you wouldn’t!” agreed Kit. “It would never stay in your purse long enough to be invested in anything!”