“How well you are looking,” said he, staring at her, as she took off her bonnet, “and the nice glossy hair has all grown again, and I vow it is brighter and silkier than ever.”
“What's all this flattery about bright een and silky locks I'm listening to?” said the old lady, coming out laughing into the ball.
“It's Master Tony displaying his foreign graces at my expense, ma'am,” said Dolly, with a smile.
“Would you have known him again, Dolly? Would you have thought that great hairy creature there was our Tony?”
“I think he is changed,—a good deal changed,” said Dolly, without looking at him.
“I did n't quite like it at first; but I'm partly getting used to it now; and though the Colonel never wore a beard on his upper lip, Tony's more like him now than ever.” The old lady continued to ramble on about the points of resemblance between the father and son, and where certain traits of manner and voice were held in common; and though neither Tony nor Dolly gave much heed to her words, they were equally grateful to her for talking.
“And where 's the doctor, Dolly? Are we not to see him at dinner?”
“Not to-day, ma'am; he's gone over to M'Laidlaw's to make some arrangements about this scheme of ours,—the banishment, he calls it.”
“And is it possible, Dolly, that he can seriously contemplate such a step?” asked Tony, gravely.
“Yes; and very seriously too.”