“And what sort is he, Brenda? You can tell me, because you are not in love with him. Now, give me a fair and unbiassed opinion of what sort the young man is.”
“He is quite good-looking, and quite gentlemanly,” said Brenda at once. “His father is a dear old gentleman, and I believe the family is a good one. He is the only child, and his mother has been dead for a long time. His father thinks a lot about Michael, I know.”
“Then I suppose the father will be able to leave the son something?”
“I don’t know anything about that. I fancy they are both poor. Major Reid has his pension, of course, but I should not imagine they have much private means. They live in a little house, but they are quite nice people.”
“You wouldn’t mind your sister marrying him, would you?”
“Not if she loved him.”
“Thank you very much, Brenda. You can’t tell me any more for the present.”
“Do you think he will propose to her when he knows—or rather do you think he will renew his proposal?” asked Brenda anxiously.
“That remains to be proved, my dear. Ah! here comes lunch. We will, for the time at least, consider that the young man is faithful and means what he says. Time alone can prove what his true sentiments are. Call your sister back; this will make a little change in my arrangements for you both.”
Florence re-entered the room. She had not found the copy of the day’s Times particularly interesting. Her cheeks were still flushed. She looked with apprehension at Mr Timmins, but kind Mr Timmins patted her on the shoulder and said, “Good girl, good girl!” in an appreciative way, which put her at her ease at once; so much so, that she thoroughly enjoyed the very excellent repast which was sent in from a neighbouring restaurant, and of which both girls ate with appetite. When it was over, Mr Timmins said—