“Dad’s hooked,” said Fin, throwing herself into a chair. “Tiny, that dandy would come to grief if I knew him long. I should feel obliged to singe his horrid little sticky mustachios; and as for the other—oh, how I could snub him if he looked and talked at me as he did at you.”
“I sincerely hope,” said Tiny, “that we shall never see them again.”
Polly’s troubles.
“By the way, Pratt,” said Trevor, as they were strolling through the grounds, “what aged man should you take Vanleigh to be?”
“Close upon forty,” said Pratt; “but he takes such care of himself, and dresses so young, that he keeps off the assaults of old Father Time.”
“He can’t be so old as that,” said Trevor, thoughtfully; “and yet he must begetting on. He was much older than we were, you know, in the old days.”
“Yes,” said Pratt; “bless him, I love Van dearly. I suppose they’ll be here soon. H’m!”
“Eh?” said Trevor.
“I said H’m!” replied Pratt.