There was a pause. Then Harry continued: “He’s a friend of mine, a gentleman, and Aunt Marguerite likes him to stay.”
“Yes,” said Louise gravely. “Aunt Marguerite seems to like him.”
“And so do you, only you’re such a precious coquette.”
Louise raised her eyebrows. This was news to her, but she said nothing.
“The more any one sees of Pradelle the more one likes him. Deal nicer fellow than that Scotch prig Leslie.”
There was a slight flush on Louise Vine’s face, but she did not speak, merely glanced at the clock.
“All right; I’m not going yet.”
Then, changing his manner—
“Oh, Lou, you can’t think what a life it is,” he cried impetuously.
“Why, Harry, it ought to be a very pleasant one.”