Dolly grow rigid. "No," she said.
"You know, I have seen something of your friends, the Claughtons." Dorothea coloured faintly, and Dolly saw it; but she did not see how much of the blush was on her own account, in sympathy with her supposed feelings. "I was surprised to hear that Mr. Claughton—our curate—would be down here just now."
"Only for two nights."
"I believe he hopes to stay for a week. He called on us the day before yesterday, and said so."
Dolly twisted herself round to lean over the back, her face turned away. "That shawl—it seems to be slipping," came in rather smothered accents. "O never mind—all right. Yes, and the eldest brother is here too—Mervyn, I mean." Dolly straightened herself, and Dorothea could not but notice her brilliant blush, could not but connect it with the last uttered name.
"Then it is Mr. Mervyn Claughton— not the other," she said to herself decisively. "Well, I have not come here to step in the way of Dolly's happiness, even supposing I had the power. If any choice is left to me, I must keep clear of Mr. Mervyn Claughton."
"You know him too, don't you?" said Dolly, looking ahead, with burning cheeks.
"The eldest Mr. Claughton. Yes; and he seems very pleasant," said Dorothea. "I know them both—a little."
"He has a great deal the most fun in him of the two."
Dorothea smiled. "Yes: a great deal." She could hardly think of the word "fun" in connection with Edred Claughton.