She brought her gaze back from the window, and surveyed him. “I beg your pardon, cousin?”
He was annoyed, and showed it. “I believe you’ve not heard one word!” he said.
“I was thinking,” said Mary thoughtfully, “that puce does not become you, Joshua.”
“Puce?” stammered Mr. Simpkins. “Become me? What — Why — ?”
“It is maybe your complexion that’s too high for it,” mused Miss Challoner.
Mr. Simpkins said with dignity: “I was speaking of Sophia, Mary.”
“I’m sure she would agree with me,” replied the lady maddeningly.
“She’s too easy, cousin. She don’t know the path she treads,” Joshua said, trying to bring the conversation back to its original topic. “She’s very different from you, you know.”
A slow smile curled Miss Challoner’s lips. “I do, of course, but it’s hardly kind in you to tell me so,” she said.
“In my eyes,” declared Joshua, “you are the prettier.”