‘There is nothing to tell, indeed,’ said Emmy, ‘except what you have heard already.’
‘I have heard nothing about him,’ said her sister.
‘Oh, Flo, dear! all that nonsense was amusing enough as long as he was only a dream. He has been a dream for so long; but now he’s a man, just like another.’
‘Not like any other in the world, Em.’
‘That is, to you and me; but, thank heaven, nobody knows except us two, and it is all over. He is like any other man, rather more nicely dressed, rather more careful of his clothes.’
‘Oh, Emmy!’
‘That doesn’t sound like our hero, does it? I suppose it is because he is half French: red stockings and patent-leather shoes, as Mab said.’
‘Well,’ said Florry, ‘if true hearts are more than coronets, they are certainly more than patent-leather shoes.’
‘That is very true, but somehow it goes dreadfully against one’s ideal. And, Flo, he is not—tall.’
Florence burst into a somewhat agitated laugh. ‘What does that matter?’ she said.