She looked across the room at the person indicated, and did not reply at once. There was a faintly reflective smile in her eyes, though it could scarcely be said to touch her lips. The man was the one who had attracted Tredennis' attention at the door of the cloak-room, and since coming down-stairs he had regarded him with some interest upon each occasion when he had caught sight of him as he moved from room to room, evidently at once paying unobtrusive but unswerving attention to the social exigencies of his position, and finding a decent amount of quiet entertainment in the results of his efforts.
"I wish you would tell me," said Bertha, after her little pause, "what adjective you would apply to him."
"I am afraid," said Tredennis, "that our acquaintance is too limited at present to allow of my grasping the subject. As I don't chance to know him at all"—
Bertha interposed, still watching the object of discussion with the faintly reflective smile.
"I have known him for six years," she said, "and I have not found his adjective yet. He is a cousin of Mr. Amory's. Suppose," she said, turning with perfect seriousness and making a slight movement as if she would rise,—"suppose we go and ask Miss Jessup?"
Tredennis offered her his arm.
"Let us hope that Miss Jessup can tell us," he said.
His imperturbable readiness seemed to please her. Her little laugh had a genuine sound in it. She sat down again.
"I am afraid she could not," she said. "See! he is coming to speak to me, and we might ask him."