Evelyn also noticed, as who could fail to do, the ingenuous blush that overspread the white crescent of the young giant's brow, and it flattered her woman's love of power. "Well, girls," she demanded, in an audible aside, "and what do you think of him?"
The verdict of the orphans was unanimous; they thought him fine, Gertrude, who would have been frivolous and slangy had her institution permitted it, pronouncing him "a peach." Sarah alone challenged him.
"He's a sassy piece," she informed Evelyn. "Look at him now, fit to burst with laughter at us! I never heard of a decent man-servant that couldn't keep his face straight."
"But if I'm not straight-faced and strait-laced like Alphonse," urged Scarlett, "at least ye can count on me never to take French leave of ye."
Sarah shook her head ominously. "He's too young, miss," she warned Evelyn. "Far too young."
"But I'm growing older every day," pleaded the postulant, "and up here the days are so long, one grows old twice as fast."
"He has too much command of language for a man-servant, miss," insisted Sarah. "That kind is apt to put on airs above their station. And—look at him now!—there's something altogether too masterful about the way he walks."
"Ah, that comes from soldiering," the young man explained. "Me legs are always under arms, as it were."
Evelyn laughed with a distinct prepossession. "What is your name?" she inquired.
"Scarlett."