"Absurd! Rose Hatherbury is the one—if it's any one in Florence."
"Oh, Rose is too young for him."
"In years, yes. But Rose's heart can be any age she pleases. Alan isn't really old in the least; but he was born middle-aged; he is the essence of middle-age and mediocrity; one always knows beforehand what he will say, for it will simply be, on every occasion, the most polite and the most commonplace thing that could possibly be devised under the circumstances. How came you to ask him to stay to dinner?"
"Felicia made me. Funny, wasn't it, to see Waddy hang on, hoping for an invitation too."
"You might have given him one. It would have entertained Dorothy."
"Well, to tell the truth, Laura, I am a little afraid of Waddy; he is so handsome!"
"She doesn't care for him."
"She likes him."
"Yes, as she likes a dozen more. If she has a fancy for one over another, it is, I think, for Owen Charrington," continued the mother. "She would have to live in England. But I dare say his people would take to her; they are very nice, you know—his people."
"How can you talk so! Dorothy is thoroughly American; she would be wretched in England. When she marries—which I hope won't be for five or six years more—she must marry one of our own countrymen, of course. The idea!"