******
William’s part was more difficult than Joan’s. William’s part consisted in repeating to Ethel compliments supposed to emanate from Mr. March. If Ethel had had the patience to listen to them she would have realised that they all bore the unmistakable imprint of William’s imagination.
William opened his campaign by approaching her when she was reading a book in the drawing-room.
“I say, Ethel,” he began in a deep soulful voice, “I saw Mr. March this afternoon.”
Ethel went on reading as if she had not heard.
“He says,” continued William mournfully, sitting on the settee next to Ethel, “he says that you’re the apple of his life. He says that he loves you with a mos’ devourin’ passion. He says that you’re ab’s’lutely the mos’ beauteous maid he’s ever come across.”
“Be quiet and let me read!” said Ethel without looking up from her book.
“He says,” went on William in the same deep monotonous voice, “he says that he doesn’t mind your hair bein’ red though he knows some people think it’s ugly. That’s noble of him, you know, Ethel. He says——”
Ethel rose from the settee.
“If you won’t be quiet,” she said, “I’ll have to go into another room.”