‘Ah! he was otherwise occupied!’
‘There is some mystery beneath,’ said Genevieve, turning to Sophy, who exclaimed abruptly, ‘Oh! is he in love?’
‘Sophy goes to the point,’ said Gilbert, smiling, the picture of languid comfort; ‘but I own there are suspicious circumstances. He always has a photograph in his pocket, and Price has seen him looking at it.’
‘Ah! depend upon it, Miss Sophy, it is all a romance of these young gentlemen,’ said Genevieve, turning to her with a droll provoking air of confidence; ‘ce pauvre Monsieur had the portrait of his sister!’
‘Catch me carrying Sophy’s face in my waistcoat pocket, cried Gilbert, forgetting his languor.
‘Speak for yourself, Mr. Gilbert,’ laughed Genevieve.
‘And he writes letters every day, and wont let any of us put them into the post for him; but we know the direction begins with Miss—’
‘Oh! the curious boys!’ cried Genevieve. ‘If I could only hint to this poor tutor to let them read Miss Downton on one!’
‘I assure you,’ cried Gilbert, ‘Price has laid a bet that she’s an heiress with forty thousand pounds and red hair.’
‘Mr. Price is an impertinent! I hope you will inform me how he looks when he is the loser.’