“And that young lady—we thought her so pretty,” said Lilias—“she is Miss Cheviott, then, I suppose?”
“Yes, she is his sister. I am glad you think her pretty. She is a dear little thing,” he replied, looking pleased and gratified. “But I am really detaining you too long. Will you be so kind as to tell Mr Western that I shall hope to see him in a day or two? Good-bye, and thank you very much,” he said, as he shook hands with Mrs Western and her daughters, Lilias last.
“For a cup of tea?” she said, laughing.
“Yes, Miss Western, for a cup of tea,” he repeated.
“I like him,” said Mary, when the door had closed on their visitor; “he is honest, and unaffected, and kindly.”
“He is very boyish,” said Lilias; “somehow he seems more boyish than when I saw him two years ago.”
“When you saw him two years ago?” repeated Mrs Western. “I did not know you had ever seen him before.”
“Yes, mamma. I met him at my second Brocklehurst ball. Mary remembers my mentioning him,” replied Lilias, meekly enough. “I did not know where he had come from, or whom he was staying with, or anything about him, and indeed I had forgotten all about him till the other day when he came to church.”
“He is a pleasant-looking young man,” said Mrs Western.
“Pleasant-looking, mother?” exclaimed Mary. “I call him very handsome.”