“Something extremely unlike itself,” said Dr. May, laughing. “Something I could easily set down as a student at Edinburgh; thirty years ago. That’s the very smile! I remember dear Maggie being more angry than I ever saw her before, because Mr. Fleet said that you smiled to show your white teeth.”
“That is the best shadow of Maggie I ever saw,” said Dr. May. “She has taught the lad to smile. That is what I call a pretty sight!”
“Come, Richard, it is a shame for old folks like us to stand spying them!”
“They care very little for me,” said Dr. May, “but I shall have them in. Cold winds blowing about that little head! Ah! here they are. Fine leaves you gather, miss! Very red and brown.”
Meta rather liked, than otherwise, those pretty teasings of Dr. May, but they always made Norman colour extremely, and he parried them by announcing news. “No, not the Bucephalus, a marriage in high life, a relation.”
“Not poor Mary!” cried Ethel.
“Mary! what could make you think of her?”
“As a hen thinks of her ducklings when they go into waters beyond her ken,” said Ethel. “Well, as long as it is not Mary, I don’t care!”
“High life!” repeated Meta. “Oh, it can be only Agatha Langdale.”
“There’s only Lord Cosham further to guess,” said Ethel.