"And Annette--what did you think of her?"
"I was very much struck with her appearance. I'm not much of a judge in such matters, but surely she is very pretty."
"Ya-as," said Paul with a half-conquering air, caressing his moustache; "ya-as, she is pretty. What did you think of her--of her altogether, you know?"
"I thought her manner very charming. A little timid and nervous, as was natural on being introduced to a stranger. Well, even more than timid: a little weary, as though scarcely recovered from some illness or excitement."
"Ah, that was her illness. She had a bout of it the very day I sent off my letter to you."
"Well, she gave me that idea. But what on earth did you mean, young fellow, by telling me in that letter that your cousin was dull and distraite? I never saw anyone more interested or more interesting; and what she said about Wordsworth's sonnets and his poem of 'Ruth' was really admirably thought out and excellently put."
"Exactly. And yet you demur at my calling you the most wonderful fellow in the world! Why, my dear old George, you are the first person in all our experience of her that has ever yet made Annette talk."
"Perhaps because I am the first person who has listened to her."
"Not at all! We've all of us tried it. The governor's not much, to be sure, and those who don't care to hear perpetually about the Tamburini row, and D'Orsay, and Gore House, and 'glorious Jack Reeve at the Adelphi, sir!' and those kind of interesting anecdotes, soon get bored. And I'm not much, and not often here. But my mother, as you'll soon find out, is a clever woman, capital talker, and all that; and so far as I can learn, Miss Netty has hitherto utterly refused to be interested and amused even by that most fascinating of men to the sex, your father."
"My father! Why, where did he ever see Miss Derinzy?"