"I suppose you are antiquarian as well as scientific," said Fulvia. "Ethel could give you some help as to antiquarian spots in the neighbourhood. She has more of a learning in that direction than towards science."
Tom was happily started anew. He forgot his discomfiture, took another seat, and expatiated upon Ethel's good points.
She was "a nice girl," he said—"a very nice sort of girl." Tom was too circumspect to call her "awfully nice," as Nigel would have done in his place; but he meant it plainly. "Really sensible, quite intelligent," continued Tom, with his superior air of approval. He enjoyed intercourse with a mind like hers; young, fresh, capable of assimilating others' knowledge, worth expending trouble upon. Tom spoke with an air of cousinly proprietorship, which might or might not be more than cousinly.
When at last the caller departed, Daisy burst out—"I can't bear that man! He isn't half good enough for Ethel!"
"Daisy, I want you for a walk," interposed Nigel.
And she rushed away to dress, Fulvia saying at the same moment, with a smile—
"Poor fellow! He is hopelessly far gone!"
Nigel made no answer.
And the silence lasted until Daisy pranced in, exclaiming, "The day after to-morrow is Fulvie's birthday."
"Be quiet, Daisy," ordered Fulvia. "Everybody knows that. It is not to be talked about."