"Mr. Stoneman! Is it possible? This is one of my brother's proceedings. That I cannot even finish a few pounds of butter! George has done many inconsiderate things—but this seems beyond even his temerity!"
"Miss Cranleigh, I give you my word of honour that I have not even seen him for the day. In fact I came to look for him, to say 'Good-bye,' before I start for Venice. One never knows when one may come back again, you see."
"Of course not. There are so many lovely things out there. The only surprising thing to me is, that any Englishman who can afford to travel spends so much of his time in this commonplace country."
"But you don't mean that! I do hope, Miss Cranleigh, that you have not so low an opinion of your own dear countrymen. And the dearer ones still, your own countrywomen! Foreign girls are all very well in their way. But who with a pair of eyes in his head——"
"You have seen more of them than I have, Mr. Stoneman. But everybody seems to say that they are most delightful. And even my poor brother George,—but I forgot,—forgive me, I am not supposed to know anything of that."
"But I do. I know everything about it," that treacherous stockbroker whispered: can any man be loyal to his best friend, when in love? "What a lucky chance that you should speak of that!"
"Excuse me, Mr. Stoneman; but I never spoke of anything. Only when a mystery is dwelling in one's mind, about one of those who naturally are the dearest to one, and when one's parents do not condescend—you see what I mean; though I really mean nothing."
"Precisely. And with such swift intelligence as yours! It is not for me to hint at my own weak ideas—such a thing as that I never do. And when no one in the family cares a fig for my opinion——"
"It is not at all fair of you to say that." Grace cast down her eyes, and then turned away in the most bewitching manner. The stockbroker jumped up from his brown milk-pan; but she looked at him, and he sat down again.