“Nurse me!” echoed Paul.
Paul couldn’t understand what that had to do with it, nor why the two young women looked on so seriously, nor why Florence turned away her face for a moment, and then turned it back, lighted up again with smiles.
“Floy,” said Paul, holding a ringlet of her dark hair in his hand. “Tell me, dear, Do you think I have grown old-fashioned?”
His sister laughed, and fondled him, and told him “No.”
“Because I know they say so,” returned Paul, “and I want to know what they mean, Floy.”
But a loud double knock coming at the door, and Florence hurrying to the table, there was no more said between them. Paul wondered again when he saw his friend whisper to Florence, as if she were comforting her; but a new arrival put that out of his head speedily.
It was Sir Barnet Skettles, Lady Skettles, and Master Skettles. Master Skettles was to be a new boy after the vacation, and Fame had been busy, in Mr Feeder’s room, with his father, who was in the House of Commons, and of whom Mr Feeder had said that when he did catch the Speaker’s eye (which he had been expected to do for three or four years), it was anticipated that he would rather touch up the Radicals.
“And what room is this now, for instance?” said Lady Skettles to Paul’s friend, “Melia.
“Doctor Blimber’s study, Ma’am,” was the reply.
Lady Skettles took a panoramic survey of it through her glass, and said to Sir Barnet Skettles, with a nod of approval, “Very good.” Sir Barnet assented, but Master Skettles looked suspicious and doubtful.