“It’s no use telling him anything. He can’t understand,” said George.
“Is she very—?” asked Dolly, fixing doubtfully grave eyes on my young cousin.
“Sam’s seen her,” said he, in an excess of shyness.
Dolly turned to me for an opinion, and I gave one:
“She is just,” said I, “as charming as he thinks her.”
Dolly leant over to my cousin, and whispered, “Tell me her name.” And he whispered something back to Dolly.
“It’s awfully kind of you, Lady Mickleham,” he said.
“I am a kind old thing,” said Dolly, all over dimples. “I can easily get to know them.”
“Oh, you really are awfully kind, Lady Mickleham.”
Dolly smiled upon him, waved her hand to me, and drove off, crying—