"You know those people whom we met at Dinard last summer, the de Saules? They're French, you know. Well, Madame de Saules,—you can't think how pretty she is,—and dear little Thérèse, and Robert have just come over here for the season. Thérèse is such a darling. You would love her. Only a kid, of course, you know, but...."
"And what price this beastly French boy? Now, listen to me. Foreigners are all rotters. I can tell you that if you're engaged to him you'll live to regret it. I speak as a friend, Dolly."
"Oh dear no! We're not engaged! You don't understand! Private engagements are not the proper thing in France. It isn't done. Oh no! Why, his mother would write to my mother and then he would send a bouquet, or something, and then——"
"A bouquet! By Jove! Why, you're more prehistoric than Aunt William! Well, look here, if this little blighter keeps his place I shan't interfere. But, mind you, if I see the smallest sign of——"
He rose to his feet.
"Of what?" said Dolly, rising and looking angry. "He's a nice, handsome, polite, dear boy. So there!"
"I should only wring his neck, that's all. Good-bye, old girl."
They walked to the gate together.
"It's only for your good, you know, Dolly. I don't mean to be a brute."
"Oh, it's all right, Savile."