"I'll take you to Jimmy's, and the Empire, and down the river, and to a match at Lord's, and to Henley if we're in time, and I'll take you to see my aunt! You'll like her." Trent nodded.
"I'll expect to," he said.

"Is she anything like you ?" "Much cleverer," the boy said, "but we've been great chums all our life.
She's the cleverest woman ever knew, earns lots of money writing for newspapers.
"Here, you've dropped your cigar, Trent." Trent groped for it on the ground with shaking fingers.
"Writes for newspapers ?" he repeated slowly.

"I wonder--her name isn't Davenant, is it ?" The boy shook his head.
"No, she's my mother's cousin really--only I call her Aunty, we always got on so.

She isn't really much older than me, her name is Wendermott--Ernestine Wendermott.

Ernestine's a pretty name, don't you think ?" Trent rose to his feet, muttering something about a sound in the forest.
He stood with his back to the boy looking steadily at the dark line of outlying scrub, seeing in reality nothing, yet keenly anxious that the red light of the dancing flames should not fall upon his face.