“Then I marvel he comes not oftener to visit us,” said innocent Lettice.
“Do you so? I don’t,” answered Dorothy, with a little laugh.
“Why?”
“How old are you, Mrs Lettice?”
The notion of discourtesy connected with this query is modern.
“I was twenty last June,” said Lettice.
“Dear heart! I should have supposed you were about two,” said Dorothy, with a little curl of her lip.
“But my grandmother thinks so likewise, and she is near eighty,” said Lettice.
“Ah! Extremes meet,” answered Dorothy, biting her lip.
Lettice tried to think out this obscure remark, but had not made much progress, when at the other end of the room she caught a glimpse of Aubrey. Though he stood with his back to her, she felt sure it was Aubrey. She knew him by the poise of his head and the soft golden gloss on his hair; and a moment later, his voice reached her ear. He came up towards them, stopping every minute to speak with some acquaintance, so that it took him a little time to reach them.