The merriment went out of Dot's face too. It grew softer, older, more
womanly. "You are very good to your brother," she said.

He frowned abruptly. "Good to him! Great Scot! Why, he's miles too good
for any of us. Don't ever class him with Nap or me! We're just ordinary
sinners. But he--he's a king."

A queer little gleam that was not all mirth made Dot's eyes grow
brighter. "I like you for saying that," she said.

"Why, of course I say it!" he protested. "It's true! He's the finest chap
in the world, all true gold and not a grain of dross. That's how it is we
all knock under to him. Even Nap does that, though he doesn't care a
tinker's curse for anyone else on this muddy little planet."

"You are awfully fond of him, aren't you?" said Dot sympathetically.

"Fond of Lucas! I'd die for him!" the boy declared with feeling. "He's
father and brother and friend to me. There isn't anything I wouldn't do
for him. Did you ever hear how he came to be a cripple?"

"Never," said Dot.

"He was knocked down by an electric car," Bertie said, rushing through
the story with headlong ardour, "trying to save his best girl's dog from
being run over. He did save it, but he was frightfully hurt--paralysed
for months. It's years ago now. I was only a little shaver at the time.
But I shall never forget it. He always was good to me, and I thought he
was done for."

"And the girl?" asked Dot rather breathlessly.

"Married an English nobleman," he rejoined, with a brevity that spoke
volumes. "I say, what about those cakes? Hadn't we better begin?"

Dot turned her attention to the fire. "I should like to meet your
brother," she remarked. "I've never spoken to a real flesh-and-blood hero
in my life."

"Nothing easier," said Bertie promptly. "Come over and have tea. Come
this afternoon, you and Ralph."

But Dot hesitated in evident doubt. "I don't know what Dad would
say," she said.

"Oh, rats! He wouldn't mind. And my mother would be delighted. Come early
and I'll show you the hunters. Nap has just bought a beauty. She's a
blood mare, black as ink."

"Like Nap," said Dot absently; then in haste, "No, I didn't mean that. I
wasn't thinking."

Bertie was looking at her shrewdly. "What do you know about Nap?" he
said.

She coloured deeply. "Nothing, nothing whatever. I only know him
by sight."

"And you don't like him?"

"I--I think he looks rather wicked," she stammered.

Bertie grunted. "Do you think I look wicked too?"