“No young lady brought up here could mean harm, Maria,” said Miss Twettenham, severely; “but to witness in her such a terrible display of—of—of—I really cannot find a word.”
“Coquetry,” suggested Miss Julia.
“Well, coquetry,” said Miss Twettenham, taking the word unwillingly, as if it were too bad to touch. “It is a terrible love of admiration!”
“What did she say, Hannah, when you spoke to her?”
“Laughed, my dear, in the most barefaced way, and said that it was all nonsense.”
“But that dreadful half-haughty, half-shy way in which she looked at him!” said Miss Maria.
“And she almost smiled,” said Miss Julia.
“Quite smiled!” said Miss Twettenham, severely. “I saw her smile at him; and then, when he lifted his hat, she raised her eyes and stared at him in a haughty, astonished way, as if she had never given him the slightest encouragement.”
“It is very shocking,” murmured Miss Maria.
“But I think she blushed a little,” remonstrated Miss Julia, as if to try and find some slight extenuating circumstance for the benefit of the most handsome pupil at the Firlawns.