Fin whispered her sister, who was growing flushed and troubled by the eager and impressive way in which Trevor spoke to her.
“It would be such a pity,” he said, walking on by her side, “if any little trifle like that in dispute should be allowed to disturb the peace, and break what would, I am sure, be a charming intimacy!”
“Why, the great, handsome wretch is making love to her,” said Fin to herself. “Oh, what a shame! I hate him already.”
“I know—I feel sure papa will only be too glad—too ready to make amends,” said Tiny, who was growing more confused; for every time she spoke and ventured to glance at her companion, it was to meet his eyes gazing into hers with a depth of tenderness that pleased while it troubled her, and made her little heart behave in the most absurdly fluttering fashion. He looked so frank and handsome—so different in his brown tweeds and carelessly put-on hat to the carefully dressed dandies, their companions of the day before.
“I have told Sir Hampton that I mean to call this afternoon to ask him to shake hands with me. Do you think I may?” he said, with another look.
“I don’t know—I think so—oh yes! pray call,” said Tiny, confused, and blushing more than ever.
“Thank you, I will,” he said, earnestly, “and you will be at home?”
“I forbid thee—no, thou must not come,” said Fin, in a mock-serious tone, “And why not?” said Trevor, turning upon her.
“Because Aunt Matty hates the sight of young men, and papa will be ready to eat you.”
“Why, bless your bright, merry little face,” cried Trevor, enthusiastically, and catching Fin’s hands in his. “Do you know what I feel as if I could do?”