"How pretty she is," said May Webster, following her retreating figure with lazy eyes. "As pretty as the roses she carries. I do hope she won't get snapped up at once. She is a pleasant little thing to have about one—which reminds me, mother. I saw a pretty girl of a different type in the village yesterday, whom I believe to be Miss Lessing. What are you going to do about her and her brother?"
"Nothing at present, I think. One really can't leave cards on a cottage!"
"But you might on the people in it. We can't very well ignore the squire of the place who is also our landlord."
"It will be time enough to recognize him when he behaves like other people."
"I don't see that he's a bit more peculiar than the University men who take to slumming. Anybody may do anything nowadays," May said with a little laugh.
"He doesn't even come to church," persisted Mrs. Webster.
"A weakness shared by many men."
"But his sister might and ought," replied her mother, severely.
"Mr. Curzon seems to think it equally necessary for men and women," said May, mischievously.
"Oh yes. Of course he's a dear good man, and I wish we were all like him, but we aren't," answered Mrs. Webster, resigning all hope of anything but moral mediocrity with a gentle sigh. "He says Mr. Lessing is a very nice fellow; but you can't quite rely on his opinion: he's a good word for every one."