“And what of Mr. Blagdon?” enquired her friend with a searching look.
“Oh, he was rather heavy, and easily tired and out of breath—of course, he is old.”
“Old! Why, I don’t believe he is a day more than six or seven and thirty, the prime of life! Apparently Lancelot Lumley and Mr. Blagdon were your two most favoured partners—but, my dear girl, I cannot allow you to have anything to say to either of them.”
Letty burst into a ringing laugh: her laugh was spontaneous and delightful.
“Why not?” she demanded.
“One is too poor, and the other is too rich.”
“But, Cousin Maudie, surely one doesn’t think of such things as future husbands—just at a dance?”
“Oh, well, I don’t suppose that you do,” and she turned away and stared into the fire. For several minutes she did not speak, then at last she said:
“You must promise never to take a fancy to anybody without giving me due notice, and the next time you go to a dance you are to leave your heart with me. You shall have it back with interest.”
“I don’t think I have that kind of heart. I’m afraid my heart is hard; I don’t care for many people; but I am very very fond of uncle and of you—and of Sam.”