Blanche turned on her sharply.
“I do hope, Stasy, you’re not going to get into that odious habit of calling men you scarcely know, by their first names.”
Stasy opened her eyes very wide.
“I do know him, very well, I consider, and so do you, only you don’t like him. We saw a great deal of him at Christmas time, and I shall always consider him a true friend, whether you do or not. And so will mamma, I’m sure; the way he stuck to us, and was so kind to Herty at the time when no one else troubled their heads about us at all. Indeed, I’m by no means sure that Sir Adam would have found out about us as he did, not for a long time anyway, but for Mr Dunstan the younger. Does that suit you, Blanchie?”
Blanche took no notice of Stasy’s sarcasm.
“I know he was very good at that time,” she said. “I think he has most kind and generous impulses, but I don’t think his character can be very deep.”
“I think you are perfectly unfair and very censorious,” said Stasy indignantly. “Because you don’t personally like the man, and cannot give any good reason for your dislike, you imagine qualities, or no qualities, to justify your own prejudice.”
“Well, what does it matter what I think?” said Blanche, in a tone which she intended to be light and indifferent. “Rosy Milward’s opinion of him is, I suppose, the thing that signifies.”
Something in her voice struck Stasy. She eyed Blanche curiously.
“I don’t know that,” she said, speaking more slowly than was usual with her. “I’m not at all sure that Archie Dunstan does care in any special way what dear Rosy thinks about him.”