Mrs. Effingham, listening to Miss Henniker, cast a grateful glance at Mervyn; and Emmeline, hearing the murmur of voices, cast a glance also, not grateful in kind.
The conversation was not at present brilliant.
"Scotland?" Mervyn said musingly. "Edinburgh, perhaps."
"Yes; the outskirts. There is nothing in London like Arthur's Seat."
"Not even the top gallery of St. Paul's?"
"Oh!" Dorothea uttered an indignant monosyllable, then paused.
"Well?" he said, smiling.
"One can't compare the two. And everything is so shut in here. There is no getting away from the people. Yet—" as if to herself, "I wanted to come!"
"I suppose the acmé of a school-girl's desires is to have done with school."
The wistful eyes went straight to his face, dubiously—not occupied with him, but with her own thoughts. They were pretty eyes, he could see.