"Shall I pour out tea, Sophie?"
The latter nodded, but made no other attempt to include her in the conversation, continuing to monopolise Mr. Bramham entirely.
In a short time Poppy became wearied of this state of affairs. After observing "Brammie's" boots, his fingers, his tie, the shape of his lips, his hair, the size of his ears, and his manner of sitting on a chair (all while she was apparently arranging the cups and looking into the teapot to see if the tea was drawing properly), the "eternal feminine," which is only another name for the dormant cat in every woman, awoke in her. She did not exactly want "Brammie" for herself, but she decided that he was too nice for Sophie.
Immediately afterwards, Bramham began to realise that there was a charming personality in the room.
"Do you take sugar?" blew like a cool little western wind into his right ear; while on his left, Sophie Cornell was bombarding him with instructions to bring someone to call.
Poppy got her answer first, and a sudden glance of recognition fell upon the slim, pale hands amongst the tea-cups; then:
"Certainly, Miss Cornell! I'll ask him to come, but I can't promise that he will. He's not much given to calling."
"Bosh! I know he goes to the Caprons and the Portals—I've seen him with that horrid Mrs. Portal."
"Ah! you don't admire Mrs. Portal?"
"I don't see anything to admire," said Sophie. "She is not a bit smart, and her hats are simply awful!"