“Jason! Jason!” protested the young brother indignantly.

But the man went on. “If you’re not so much like God as to be angry at everything that isn’t praise, I’ll give you my advice. My advice is⁠—”

“Shut up, Jason, can’t you?” interrupted Darnley.

“My advice is that you go back to London. This Dorset climate isn’t good for you! Those Londoners would very soon give you plenty of money, when they heard that your mother was cousin to that lord you were telling us about just now.”

“Jason can’t forgive you, Solent,” interposed Darnley, “for having heard his poems at all. Years ago he read some to me, and afterwards stopped speaking to me for three days!”

Instead of being annoyed at this remarkable reminiscence, the Slowworm of Lenty raised his shoulders and chuckled audibly.