"Then, Angel," he said, "I hope you will respect them."
"Always, always," she promised gaily. "Oh, cousin Philip, I began to be afraid you were never coming home; I do hope you will think I have worked well."
"I am sure of that; I felt immensely proud of your sketches, and I have given your swagger tea-cosy to Mrs. Gordon."
"It was intended for you—and for the old red teapot," she protested.
"Far too smart for that, Angel; and I hear you are proficient in French and dancing, and the riding master's best pupil."
"Just because I'm not afraid and always take the pulling chestnut," she responded, "and that is only an amusement. I'm not good at German or arithmetic. People think I am cleverer than I am."
"Oh, people do think you clever?" he said with affected surprise.
"Only" (with a blush) "the other girls."
"You and I must have some holidays together, Angel, and go up the river, and see the pictures and do some matinées. I shall be in London for a couple of months."
"Only a couple of months," she exclaimed in a tone of dismay, "and how the time will fly—and then?"