Arthur Townshend put the end of his cigarette carefully into the ash-tray and leant forward.
"You really want to know—then here goes. She told me you were tall—like a king's own daughter; that your hair was as golden as a fairy tale, and your eyes as grey as glass. She told me of suitors waiting on your favours——"
Elizabeth dropped her knitting with a gasp.
"If Aunt Alice told you all that—well, I've no right to say a word, for she did it to glorify me, and perhaps her kind eyes and heart made her think it true; but surely you don't think I am such a conceited donkey as to believe it."
"But isn't it true?—about the suitors, I mean?"
"Suitors! How very plural you are!"
"But I would rather keep them in the plural," he pleaded; "they are more harmless that way. But Aunt Alice did talk about some particular fellow—I think Gordon was his wretched name."
"Bother!" said Elizabeth. "I've dropped a stitch." She bent industriously over her knitting.
"I'm waiting, Elizabeth."
"What for?"