"Yes, a good deal." Dorothea could not restrain a slight blush.
"And I thought I would just ask—I thought I could just put a little question. I should like so much to know whether it has struck you—whether you have an impression that either of them cares at all for Dolly,—cares very particularly, I mean."
Dorothea was silent. If she had had merely an "impression," she could have told it at once; but how could she betray Edred's confidence to Isabel?
"You see I am asking for Dolly's sake. One can't help noticing,—and I dare say you have noticed that she does seem to—well, to have a particular liking for one of them—more than just friendship."
Dorothea said "Yes" again.
"I was sure you couldn't help seeing. At one time we really thought something was coming of it,—but lately I have felt doubtful. He doesn't seem to take the same pains,—and I do believe that is why poor little Dolly is so down-hearted. Of course, one can't do anything: and, as Margot says, things must be left to take their own course. Still, I thought I might just ask you, as a friend, whether you have noticed—"
Dorothea liked to be treated as a friend, and she had noticed a great deal; but she was puzzled what response to make.
"I can't imagine for my part what has made him so stiff and cold," said Isabel, knitting her brows. "Of course, he never is very lively—still, he used not to be like this. Margot says—but I don't believe—"
Dorothea broke into the confused sentences.
"Mr. Mervyn Claughton stiff and cold!"