[Here I am sorry to say that our dialogue becomes somewhat elliptical, owing to the difficulty of finding enough unappropriated printers' symbols to represent our different shades of silence. However, with luck, I may be able to scrape together a few more, and come to some sort of conclusion.]
Let me see—where were we?... Oh, on the subject of the boy and his companion, who, it seems, were engaged.
"* * *" resumed Nelly, in a look which spoke three volumes. I divined at once that she had thrown him over, that there had been an awful scene, and his mother had written a horrid letter, that he had come back and abjectly apologised, that he said she had destroyed his faith in women (the usual thing), that he went on sending letters for a whole year: in fact, that it made her quite uncomfortable.... Really, Nelly can give points to Lord Burleigh's nod!
"?" inquired my right eye, meaning, had she not been in love with him a little bit?
Miss Nelly prodded the path with her parasol.
"¿" I asked again, referring to a different person, and, I am afraid, squinting.
Miss Nelly looked for the fraction of an instant in my direction.
"¿¿" I repeated.
Miss Nelly looked straight in front of her. There was her fiancé, the American millionaire!