Cadge whistled.
"Van Dam! How calmly the giddy child says it! Does your youngest cousin make mud pies with duchesses? Say, she comes pretty near being one of the '400.' But I'm off; a grist of copy to grind—talk of raving beauties, you'll be the only one that won't rave!"
Of course Cadge wouldn't have talked just like that before the others, if she had come earlier.
At bedtime Milly and Ethel ran to my room to talk things over, and my Aunt came to shoo them off to bed, but she stayed and talked, too; and I've no business to be writing at this shocking time of night, except, of course I couldn't sleep and so I might as well.
"Everybody thinks you resemble your cousins," Aunt said; "and really there is a family likeness."
Poor Aunt! Ethel and Milly are washed out copies of me, in dress and hair, if that constitutes resemblance; and they imitate even my mannerisms.
I should think Mr. Hynes would be too critical to admire Milly.
I had a partial engagement for Monday with John; but he'll let me off, to go to the Opera.