“Consider it granted, even to the half of my kingdom,” responded Faradeane. “What is it?”
Bertie was silent for a moment; then, blushing like the rose, and with downcast eyes, he said:
“What—what do you think of her now—of Olivia, Faradeane?”
Faradeane was sitting with his arms folded at the back of his head, his eyes fixed in dreamy patience and kindliness upon the fair, girlish face; but at this abrupt question his expression changed and his arms dropped.
“What do I think of Miss Vanley?” he said, in a slow, constrained voice.
“Yes, old fellow. You can’t tell how anxious I am to get your opinion. You see, you are the dearest friend I’ve got, you always were my friend and all that, and I—I naturally——”
Faradeane nodded, and seemingly intent upon his pipe, which had suddenly got stopped up apparently, said:
“I think she is a very beautiful girl. Cherub, and something a very great deal better than beautiful.”
“I knew you’d say so, but I wanted to hear you say it!” exclaimed Bertie, with suppressed fervor. “I knew you admired her——”
Faradeane raised his head sharply.