"Thank you," he answered dryly, "your description is sufficient."
"At any rate, you will recognise Mrs. Miller by a glaring mass of dyed hair, topped by a jaunty green feather. Colonel Miller's time is up, and he will soon be retired, and go home. He and his wife have led a merry life for years, they are heavily in debt—so Mrs. Miller says—and they have barely enough for two people to live on, much less three. She is therefore determined to get rid of Barbie, her daughter; I am sure she longed to put her in her auction list, 'One charming and amiable girl, aged nineteen; hair and complexion guaranteed; no reasonable offer refused.' You see how spiteful I can be!"
"But what does the young lady say?" enquired Mallender, as he glanced at a pretty young thing, with a small wistful face, and clouds of light brown hair.
"The young lady dare not have any opinion; she only came out a year ago, and has not had much of a time. Barbie is popular, and rather a dear, but her mother scares everyone by her almost bloodthirsty hunt for a son-in-law. The poor child is terribly handicapped by her parents; a rackety mother, and a gambling father; I must say, I am sorry for poor little Barbie."
"So am I," echoed Mallender; "is there no escape?"
"No, though she has a staunch friend in Aunt Fan, whose two manias are, young girls, and old furniture. Aunt Fan has done her level best, but I'm afraid that nothing short of the end of the world, can save Barbie from becoming Mrs. Harris."
"Miserable victim!"
"Well, yes—and no. Colonel Harris is a kind old thing, except at bridge, when he is like a dissatisfied turkey-cock. Of course, there will be no 'love's young dream!'"
Mallender gave a loud involuntary laugh.
"Don't laugh so scornfully," expostulated Mrs. Brander. "The girl will have a good home, no money cares, possibly a motor—and certainly a comfortable widow's pension."