“I see the most delightful prospect I ever could imagine of enjoying myself,” Lorraine replied, with a glance, imparting to his harmless words the mischief of that which nowadays we call “a most unwarrantable personal allusion.” But she did not, or would not, take it so.
“How kind of you to be pleased so lightly! But we do our best, in our simple way, when any one kindly comes to see us.”
“Why, Miss Catherow, I thought from what your cousin said to me that you were only staying here for a little time yourself.”
“You are quite right as to Miss Catherow. But I am not my Cousin Phyllis. I am only Mabel Lovejoy, Gregory Lovejoy’s sister.”
“By Jove, how glad I am!” cried Hilary, in his impetuous way; “what a fool I must have been not to know it, after I saw him run to meet his cousin in the orchard! But that treacherous Gregory never told me that he even had a sister. Now, won’t I thoroughly give it to him?”
“You must not be angry, Mr. Lorraine, with poor Gregory, because—because Phyllis is such a beautiful girl.”
“Don’t let me hear about beautiful girls! As if—as if there could be any——”
“Good enough for Gregory,” she answered, coming cleverly to his rescue, for he knew that he had gone too far; “but wait till you have seen Cousin Phyllis.”
“There is one thing I shall not defer for the glory of seeing a thousand Miss Catherows, and that is the right that I have to shake hands with my dear friend Gregory’s sister.”