Flossie raised her eyebrows with an indescribable effect of fastidious distaste, and closed her lips.
“I don’t think I want to, particularly. Father is the most wonderful man that anyone could ever want to know, I should imagine.”
“Oh, yes,” said Valeria.
She was perfectly conscious of speaking anything but whole-heartedly.
She did indeed think her father wonderful, but she could not, like Flora, feel herself to be forever satisfied by the contemplation of parental wonderfulness.
“You’re different since you came back from France, Val. I think you’d better marry Owen,” said Flora calmly.
“He hasn’t asked me, yet.”
There was a sound from the floor below.
“That was Father! He hates us to sit up late. I’d better go before he comes up again. Good-night, Flossie.”
“Good-night.”