“Old Spreight is old enough,” I said. “Young Bute is one of his young men; but he understands his work, and seems intelligent.”
“What’s he like?” she asked.
“Personally, an exceedingly nice young fellow. There’s a good deal of sense in him. I like a boy who listens.”
“Good-looking?” she asked.
“Not objectionably so,” I replied. “A pleasant face—particularly when he smiles.”
“Is he married?” she asked.
“Really, it did not occur to me to ask him,” I admitted. “How curious you women are! No, I don’t think so. I should say not.”
“Why don’t you think so?” she demanded.
“Oh, I don’t know. He doesn’t give you the idea of a married man. You’ll like him. Seems so fond of his sister.”
“Shall we be seeing much of him?” she asked.