"My friend likes you," he said, as he thought, craftily.
Cuckoo tossed her head without reply.
"He said he would rather go with you on Saturday than with any one in
London."
This last remark seemed to produce a considerable effect upon the girl.
"Did he, though?" she asked, one finger going up to her under lip, reflectively. "Really, truly?"
"Really, truly."
"What should he want with me? He's—he's not one of the usual sort."
"Valentine usual! I should think not."
"And he wants me to go?"
Certainly she was impressed and flattered.