“Well, have a B. and S. any way. I only want to hear from you whatever you can tell me of Mrs. and Miss Violet Mordaunt.”
“What? You have discovered their names?” cried Dibbin with a start.
“I have.”
“Mr. Harcourt, you are a remarkable man,” said the agent with quiet certainty.
“Oh, not too remarkable. But since I do know something, you might let yourself loose as to the rest, as I am interested. You have seen the mother, I know. Have you seen the daughter, too?”
“Several times.”
“Pretty girl, eh? Or what do you think?”
“Well, I am getting an old man now,” said Dibbin; “but I have been young, and I think I can remember how I should have felt at twenty-five in the presence of such a being.”
“Pretty, you think her, eh?”