Mrs. Trelawney possessed the rare art of dressing in such dainty perfection as never woman did before, he thought; and all her toilettes seemed to harmonise so much with the time and place in which he saw them, and with his own taste.
As they conversed on indifferent subjects, a strange and subtle magnetism drew their eyes to meet from time to time in a manner that expressed or admitted much, and yet no particular word of regard—still less of love—escaped Dalton; but little Netty by her remarks sometimes made both feel very awkward, and wish that she was relegated to the region of the nursery.
The child, encouraged by his tender manner to herself—more than all, her beautiful necklet—often hung with confidence and familiarity about him, and with pretty pertinacity questioned him about his past adventures, where he had been and what he had seen, if he ever had a wife, and much more to the same effect, as if his past life were of interest to her, as it was no doubt beginning to be to her mamma; and on this occasion, by a simple remark, she made both feel quite uncomfortable.
Resting her elbows on his knee, and planting her little face between her hands, she looked up in his eyes and said,
'Captain Dalton, do you come to see me or mamma?'
'I come to see both,' replied Dalton, smiling as he stroked her bright hair.
'But you talk so much more to mamma than to me.'
'You are a little girl, Netty; well?'
'That I think—I think——'
'What? A penny for your thoughts.'