“Fanny, darling, what do you think of him?”
Fanny, darling! That was not Beryl’s usual way of putting things. Miss Cronin was much shaken. She felt the ground of her life, as it were, rocking beneath her feet, and yet she answered—she could not help it:
“I think Mr. Arabian is the most—the most—he is fascinating. He is a charming man. And how very good-looking!”
“Yes, he’s a handsome fellow. And so you liked him?”
“No one has ever been so charming to me as he was—that I can remember. He must have a most sympathetic make-up. Who is he?”
“A friend of Dick Garstin, the painter. And so he attracted you?”
“I think him certainly most attractive. I should imagine he must have a very kind heart. There is something almost childlike about him, so simple!”
“So—so you find nothing repellent in him?”
“Repellent!” said Miss Cronin, almost with fear. “Do you mean to say—then don’t you like him?”
“I like him well enough. But, as you ought to know, I’m not given to raving about men.”