Lady Slater now rose and beckoned to Hugo.
“Come over to this settee,” she said; “there is just room for two little people—and have a flirtation with me.”
Blagdon assented obediently, and as she seated herself she continued:
“It was only an excuse to tell you that I think your little girl is just too sweet for anything!”
He nodded with stolid complacency.
“But she wants a lot of what we sporting folk call ‘handling.’ She’s a bit nervous at the post—and a shocking bad starter.”
Again Blagdon nodded, but on this occasion without complacence.
“The child has lovely eyes—eyes like some beautiful wild filly, that is ready to bolt. She is as pretty as a picture, but she is too young! My dear man, why doesn’t she get a woman who can do her hair? And where did she pick up those early Victorian garments? She doesn’t give herself half a chance!”
Blagdon glared into the artistically painted face of his companion.
“As you say, she is too young,” he growled savagely; “give her time—in twenty years she’ll be up to all the tricks of the trade!”