Persy pretended to be absorbed in her reflection. “And Lochinvar promised that when my arm had healed and we were all back home again, he’d let me ride him in the paddock.” Charles flapped his bandaged arm like a crazed chicken. “Since when do you hate maths? And since when do you make eyes at people like Lord Carharrick? You looked like a heifer with indigestion whenever he looked at you today.” “Lochinvar said he looked like a wilted violet with that purple waistcoat,” Charles added with relish. “Charles!” Persy said severely. He looked at her and shrugged. “Well, he did.” “Persy, there’s something going on here.” Pen sounded alarmingly like Ally for a moment. “You’re right, there is. Since when do you call Lord Seton by his first name, Chucklehead?” Persy asked. “He told me to call him Lochinvar! He did!” Charles protested. “He said we’d known each other too long to be formal. Sometimes I just call him Seton, and that’s all right too.” “You two have become best chums, haven’t you?”
