There had been a pretty long pause, after a rather favourable commentary on the character of Barret, when the thin little old lady had wound up with the observation that the subject of their criticism was a remarkably agreeable man, with a playfully humorous and a delightfully serious turn of mind—“and so modest” withal!
Apparently the last words had turned her mind into the new channel, for she resumed—
“Talking of insolence, my dear—”
“Were we talking of insolence, mother?” said Milly, with a surprised smile.
“Well, my love, I was thinking of the opposite of modesty, which is the same thing. Do you know, I had a meeting on the day of my arrival here which surprised me very much? To say truth, I did not mention it sooner, because I wished to give you a little surprise. Why do you change your seat, my love? Did you feel a draught where you were?”
“No—no. I—I only want to get the light a little more at my back—to keep it off my face. But go on, mother. What was the surprise about? I’m anxious to know.”
If Milly did not absolutely know, she had at least a pretty good idea of what was coming!
“Well, of course you remember about that young man—that—that cowardly young man who—”
“Who ran you down in London? Yes, yes, I know,” interrupted the daughter, endeavouring to suppress a laugh, and putting her handkerchief suddenly to her face. “I remember well. The monster! What about him?”
“You may well call him a monster! Can you believe it? I have met him here—in this very island, where he must be living somewhere, of course; and he actually ran me down again—all but.” She added the last two words in order to save her veracity.