"He fell in love with me at Easter, the silly boy! Fancy that! One can't think it was in earnest, you know, but it really seemed like it. I asked him if he would like his ears boxed, and Mr. Edwin Barley gave us both a sharp talking-to, saying we ought to be sent to school again."
"Both! But if it was not your fault?"
"Mr. Edwin Barley said it was my fault," she returned, with a laugh. "Perhaps it was. He has not, as I believe, loved Philip King since."
"Who is the other one with them, Selina?" I asked, as the gentlemen below disappeared.
"The other is George Heneage—a great friend of mine. Hush! he is coming up."
George Heneage entered. A young man, tall, slender, active; with a pale, pleasant face, and dark wavy hair. He had a merry smile, and I thought I had never seen any one so nice-looking. Mrs. Edwin Barley moved to the fire, and he took her hand in greeting.
"Well! And how have you been all day? Dull?"
It was the pleasantest voice! Quite a contrast after that of Mr. Edwin Barley.
"Much any of you care whether I am dull or gay," she returned in answer, half laughing, half pouting. "The partridges get all your time, just now. I might be dead and buried before any of you came home to see after me."
"We must shoot, you know, Selina. One of us, at any rate, came home a couple of hours ago—Barley."