“You look so nice to-night, Doll,” said Ernest.
She flushed with pleasure, and answered simply, “I am glad you think so.”
“Yes, I do think so; you are really pretty.”
“Nonsense, Ernest! Can’t you find some other butt to practise your compliments on? What is the good of wasting them on me? I am going to sit down.”
“Really, Doll, I don’t know what has come to you lately, you have grown so cross.”
She sighed as she answered, gently:
“No more do I, Ernest. I did not mean to speak crossly, but you should not make fun of me. Ah, here come Miss Ceswick and Eva.”
They had rejoined Florence and Jeremy. The two ladies were seated, while Ernest and Jeremy were standing, the former in front of them, the latter against the wall behind, for they were gathered at the topmost end of the long room. At Dorothy’s announcement both the lads bent forward to look down the room, and both the women fixed their eyes on Ernest’s face anxiously, expectantly, something as a criminal fixes his eyes on the foreman of a jury who is about to pronounce words that will one way or another affect all his life.
“I don’t see them,” said Ernest carelessly. “O, here they come. By George!”