"Why, there's Ernest, isn't it?"
Miss Theodora glanced ahead. Nearsighted though she was, she had no trouble in recognizing her nephew's broad shoulders and swinging gait. But the young man was not alone. He was walking rather slowly, and bending toward a girl in a close-fitting tailor-made suit. It was the end of October, too early for furs, yet the girl was anticipating the winter fashions. One end of a long fuzzy boa flaunted itself over her shoulder, stirred, like the heavy ostrich plumes in her hat, by the afternoon breeze.
"It isn't Kate, is it?" said Miss Theodora, dubiously, as the carriage drew near the pair.
"No, indeed, not Kate," quickly answered Mrs. Digby.
"I wonder who it can be," continued Miss Theodora, for she could not help observing Ernest's tender air toward the girl.
"Oh, I'm sure I can't say, Theodora. It's certainly no one I know; but Kate—or perhaps it was Ralph—has been saying something about a flirtation of Ernest's with some girl he met somewhere last year." Then seeing that Miss Theodora looked downcast: "Oh, it isn't likely it's anything serious, Theodora; it's only what you must expect at his age, and of course his interests are all so different now from what you had expected, that it isn't surprising to find him flirting or falling in love with girls whom you and I know nothing about."
By this time the carriage had passed the two young people, and Ernest was so absorbed in his companion that he did not even see it rolling by.