Alex turned nearly as scarlet as her sister had been a moment before.
"Shut up!" she said savagely. A thought struck her. "You don't mean to say you ever let that beastly French boy try to do anything like that?" she demanded.
"No, no," said Barbara hastily; "of course not. But he's not such a boy as all that, you know. He has a moustache, and he's doing his service militaire now. Otherwise," said Barbara calmly, "I daresay he would have followed me to England."
"You conceited little idiot! He must have been laughing at you."
Barbara shrugged her shoulders, with a gesture that had certainly not been acquired in Clevedon Square.
"You'll see for yourself presently," she remarked. "He's going to get his permission next month, and he's coming to London."
"You don't suppose you'll be able to go sneaking about writing notes and meeting him in corners here, do you?" cried Alex, horrified.
Barbara looked at her disdainfully, and gave deft little pulls and pats to the bow on her hair, so that it stood out more than ever.
"What on earth do you take me for, Alex? Of course, I know as well as you do that that sort of thing can't be done in London. It will all be perfectly proper," said Barbara superbly. "I have given him permission to call here."
Alex remained speechless.