“What is it, Dien?” asked Lili.
“Come, deary, now don’t you keep yourself so innocent! Do you think I don’t know why you cried as you did this afternoon, and why Miss Emilie made such a long stay in the conservatory? You see I thought there was something then,” she continued, winking her sunken eye, “and I began thinking to myself, and there you are—at half-past five in he marches, and stops nicely to dinner, eh?”
“Get along, Dien; what are you prattling about?”
“No, no; Dien doesn’t prattle. Dien knows what she knows well enough. And you too, you know what you’re about.”
“What is it then?”
“Well, child, you are quite right. There’s a steady boy he is. [[208]]Such a nice, gentle little face, with a neat little fair moustache. A proper little hubby for you. You are rather dainty yourself. They are well matched—eh, Miss Marie?”
“Cut out for each other,” yawned Marie from between her sheets.
“You like him then?”
“Rather!” answered Dien. “And he is always so polite to me and Bet. He always says it so nicely when I open the door to him: ‘Ah, Dien, how are you?’ Always a word or two to say, you know. Not a bit proud, and he never forgets to wipe his feet.”
Lili roared.