“That is something very novel. Prettiest girl,” she repeated speculatively. “Well, Miss Clover is the most strictly good-looking, her features the most correctly in drawing.”
“Yes; only she always looks as if she was dressed up to sit or stand and be stared at, like a wax figure with a label, ‘The public are requested not to touch.’ You could not imagine her playing a hard set of tennis, or riding to hounds, or braving wet weather.”
“No”—sarcastically—“I fancy she would ‘come off’ badly.”
“Miss Paske is the most lively of the lot. She has such a piquante, wicked little face. On the whole I give her the preference. I like to talk and dance with her, but I funk a tête-à-tête or a long walk, for she is just the sort of girl who would propose for a fellow like a shot.”
“I am sure you need not be the least uneasy or afraid of putting temptation in her way,” rejoined Miss Valpy. “You may enjoy her company with impunity. You would not suit her at all, as you are neither rich, good-looking, clever, or, indeed, distinguished for anything but an enormous amount of conceit; and the amusement it affords us is your only redeeming quality.”
Mr. Skeggs again stroked his little moustache, blinked his white eyelashes fatuously, and giggled like a girl.
“Crushed—not to say squashed,” he groaned.
“You admire Miss Paske,” continued the young lady scornfully. “Just what I would have expected of you! Now, in my opinion, she is not to be named in the same hour with Honor Gordon. What lovely eyes she has!”
“Yes; Miss Gordon with her fiddle and her figure is hard to beat. As to her eyes—I suppose they have never happened to scorch you? She is too stand-off; she is a woman’s girl. To tell you the truth, she frightens me.”
“Poor timid little soldier! No doubt you mean that she never flatters you; and I admit that her honest frankness sometimes takes away my breath. However, she does not terrify other men—for instance,” and she paused expressively, “Mr. Jervis.”