“Well, dear William, how did you like your dinner? Everything very nice, I dare say. Had he anyone to meet you?”
“No, quite alone; everything very good and very pleasant—a very jolly evening, and Trevor very chatty, chiefly about himself, of course.”
Aunt Dinah looked at him with expectation, and William, who understood her, was not one of those agreeable persons who love to tantalise their neighbours, and force them to put their questions broadly.
“Violet has gone to bed?” said William.
“Oh, yes, some time.”
“Yes, so Tom said,” pursued William. “Well, I’ve no great news about Trevor’s suit; in fact, I’m quite certain there’s nothing in it.”
Aunt Dinah’s countenance fell.
“And why?” she enquired.
“He mentioned her. He admires her—he thinks her very pretty, and all that,” said William.
“I should think so,” interposed Miss Perfect, with the scorn of one who hears that Queen Anne is dead.