“My dear ... only last week you said——”
Robert spoke with dignity and a certain embarrassment.
“Last week?” he said frowning, as if he had a difficulty in carrying his mind back as far as that ... “well, I remember I did once think her an entirely different sort of person to what she turned out to be.... He’s called Groves, isn’t he, mother?”
“Who, dear?” said his mother mildly.
“The artist who’s taken The Limes.”
“I believe so, dear.”
“I’ve seen the daughter—she’s—she’s——”
He stopped confusedly trying to hide his blushes.
“She’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen in your life,” put in his father sardonically.
“How did you know?” asked Robert. “Have you seen her?”