Hal looked up from her lowly seat with a mischievous, engaging expression.
“You know you really are rather clever in a useless sort of fashion,” she informed him.
“Thank you,” making a bow.
“Can’t you tell him how to be clever in a useful sort of fashion, with all your practical experience?” suggested Lorraine.
“Oh, I could; but what’s the use? he doesn’t want to know. It would mean hard work.”
“Give him the benefit of a suggestion, anyhow.”
“Well, other briefless barristers peg away at journalism, and political agency work, and coaching, and studying. Baby just sits down and looks nice, as if he thought the briefs would come fluttering round him like all the silly, pink-cheeked, wide-eyed girls. You ought to have seen our little maid the night he dined with us. When she first saw him she seemed to mutter ‘O my’ in a breathless fashion, and when she handed him his plate, she spilt all the gravy on to his knee, gazing into his face.”
Hermon looked a little annoyed. “Very few people can talk absolute rot in a clever way,” he aimed at her.
Hal laughed.
“Why, that drew you, Baby! You look quite ruffled. I was only pulling your leg: the pink-cheeked girls don’t really flutter round, they run away in terror at your scowl. You know he can scowl, Lorraine. At least it isn’t exactly a scowl; it’s more a cast-iron solemnity of such degree that it has a Medusa-like effect and freezes the poor little peach-blossom girls into putty images.”