"Alexina…?"
"Groome. You must have met her at the Hofer ball."
"She—what—possible—"
Gwynne looked at his stuttering and flushed young cousin and burst into laughter.
"As bad as that, was it? Well, she's not bespoken as far as I know.
Wade in and win. You have my blessing. She is almost as beautiful as
Isabel—"
"She's quite as beautiful as Miss Otis."
"Oh, very well. No doubt I'd think so myself if I hadn't happened to meet Isabel first, and if I were not too old for her anyway."
Gwynne could think of no better remedy for demoralized nerves than a flirtation with a resourceful California girl, and if Dick annexed a living companion for his trying journey to England so much the better.
Gathbroke's excitement subsided quickly. He was in no condition for sustained enthusiasm. He felt as if quite ten years had passed since he had half fallen in love with Alexina Groome in a ball room that was now a charred heap in the sodden wreck of a city he barely could conjure in memory.
Besides, he had half fallen in love so often. And she was too young. He had really been more drawn to that strange Miss Dwight; upon whom, however, he had not yet called.