"I don't care, I don't like him."
"Nor do I, Fred," said Gertrude, with decision, as the whole party turned into Number 20B, and went up to the sitting-room.
"I think really you are a little unreasonable," said Lucy, putting her arm round her sister's waist; "he seemed quite a nice person."
"He looks," put in Conny, speaking for the first time, "as though he meant to have the best of everything. But so do a great many of us mean that."
"But not," cried Gertrude, "by trampling over the bodies of other people. Ah, you are all laughing at me. But can one be expected to think well of a person who makes one feel like a strong-minded clown?"
They laughed more than ever at the curious image summoned up by her words; then Phyllis remarked, critically—
"There is one thing I don't like about him, and that is his eye. I particularly detest that sort of eye; prominent, with heavy lids, and those little puffy bags underneath."
"Phyllis, spare us these realistic descriptions," protested Lucy, "and let us dismiss Mr. Darrell, for the present at least. Perhaps our revered chaperon will tell us something of her experiences with a certain noble lord," she added, placing in her dress, with a smile of thanks, the gardenia of which Fred had divested himself in her favour.
"It was very nice of him," said Gertrude, gravely, "to get Mr. Oakley to introduce him to me, if only to show me that the sight of me did not make him sick."
"I like his face," added Lucy; "there is something almost boyish about it. Do you remember what Daudet says of the old doctor in Jack, 'La science l'avait gardé naïf.'"