“And how is our Miss Sally Hastings these days?” Agnes asking this genially of Ginger Horton while giving Guy a meaningfully coy glance—for she had tried to interest her nephew in the young lady.
“Poor Sally,” said Ginger Horton, putting on her look of extremest nonchalance. “She’s become rather tiresome, I’m afraid.”
“That is a shame,” said Agnes. “Such a lovely girl—didn’t you think so, Guy?”
“A most charming girl,” said Guy Grand.
“And yet, I must say, you didn’t seem to notice,” his aunt went on, rather severely, “hardly spoke two words all evening—though, if I’ve a shred of intuitiveness, she was very much attracted to you, Guy.”
“We met later at her place,” Guy explained.
“Guy, you didn’t!” said Agnes in genuine annoyance.
“Yes, of course,” said Guy. “Just for a little tête-à-tête—nothing more certainly.”
“Well,” said Agnes, taking a long sip of her tea, and pursing her lips before speaking again to Ginger, “that is a shame, Ginger. And such a clever girl, too; but then I suppose so many of them are, aren’t they—young girls, I mean, of her sort? Personally, of course, I put quality before cleverness—don’t you, Guy?”
“Oh, I should think that goes without saying,” said Guy easily.