“Do you know, Miss Linden, you don’t look at all like I expected.”
“Am I to be glad or sorry for that?”
“I thought you would be an old maid, stiff and starched, like May Robinson’s governess.”
“I am not married, Carrie, so perhaps you may regard me as an old maid.”
“You’ll never be an old maid,” said Carrie, confidently. “You are too young and pretty.”
“Thank you, Carrie,” said Florence, with a little blush. “You say that, I hope, because you are going to like me.”
“I like you already,” said the little girl, impulsively. “I’ve got a cousin that will like you, too.”
“A young girl?”
“No; of course not. He is a young man. His name is Percy de Brabazon. It is a funny name, isn’t it? You see, his father was a Frenchman.”
Florence was glad that she already knew from Percy’s own mouth of the relationship, as it saved her from showing a degree of surprise that might have betrayed her acquaintance with the young man.