“Can you?” he asked, looking at her critically.
She laughed.
“Of course I can,” she said. “Why, you hardly left my beautiful Florence’s side the whole of yesterday evening. You ought not to pay such marked attentions if you don’t mean anything by them.”
“But suppose I do mean something,” he said, all of a sudden.
Then Mrs Fortescue drew her chair nearer to that of the gallant lieutenant and spoke with great earnestness.
“I have not the least idea,” she said, “what the girls’ fortunes will be; but I know, of course, that they must be exceedingly well off. No expense has been spared during their school-days. Their dress has been quiet but of the most expensive make, and they have been taught every possible accomplishment, even riding, which you know is always a serious item in school bills. Mr Timmins is a very reserved man, and has told me nothing of what is now to happen to them.”
“But surely, you must know something?” said the lieutenant, who at that moment seemed quite to forget that he would like Florence equally well if she were as poor as a church mouse.
“As a matter of fact, I know nothing. Mr Timmins came down to see the girls on Christmas Eve, and was with them for a little time, but he had no talk with me. Still, I make not the slightest doubt that I shall hear from him soon and, in all probability, we shall leave Langdale and go to London. I am quite willing to go with the dear children and to help them any way in my power.”
“They will both marry young,” said the lieutenant, with exceeding gloom in his voice. “They will be surrounded by suitors of all sorts. A homely sort of fellow like—like—”
“Oh, you mustn’t compare yourself to a homely sort of fellow,” said Mrs Fortescue.