"Eh, what? From our friend here?"
"No," explained Mallow; "it seems that Mrs. Purcell has written an account of Mr. Carson to Miss Slarge, and your friend is to hear it verbatim."
From long exposure to the sun, the natural hue of Semberry's complexion was brick-dust, yet at this it became still more red, and he put up a hand and tugged uneasily at his moustache. His manner reflected the recent anxiety of Carson, and Mallow was at once on the alert to discover the cause of their joint discomfort. There was a hint of mystery about the swift glances they exchanged which piqued his curiosity, and from that moment he was silently observant of their every look and word. What he expected to learn he hardly knew, but that there was something to be learned he felt convinced. But then Mallow was distinctly prejudiced against Carson as his rival.
When the Major's hand came down from his moustache, he observed that "Mrs. Purcell was a charming woman, and that she wrote an amusing letter." He then turned to face Olive, who was approaching with Dr. Drabble.
"It is not kind of you three gentlemen to exclude us from your conversation," she said brightly. "What are you talking about?"
"Mrs. Purcell's letter," said Carson, with a glance of proprietorship. "Miss Slarge has promised to read aloud the character which her sister is so good as to give me."
"It is a better one than you deserve," replied Olive.
"Ha, ha!" roared Drabble, who was a noisy creature at best, "isn't his character to your liking, Miss Bellairs?"
"If it is not," said Carson, before the girl had time to answer, "Olive shall make it to her liking in two months."
Miss Ostergaard, who had joined the group, laughed. "Can an old dog learn new tricks?" she said mischeviously.