Edward went off on the search, and Bertha looked at him with a delightful smile.
“He is such a good-tempered person,” she said to Miss Ley. “Sometimes he makes me feel positively ashamed.”
“He has all the virtues. Dr. Ramsay, the Glovers, even Mrs. Branderton, have been dinning his praise into my ears.”
“Yes, they all like him. Arthur Branderton is always here, asking his advice about something or other. He’s a dear, good thing.”
“Who? Arthur Branderton?”
“No, of course not—Eddie.”
Bertha took off her hat and stretched herself more comfortably on the long chair. Her hair was somewhat disarranged, and the rich locks wandered about her forehead and on the nape of her neck in a way that would have distracted any minor poet under seventy. Miss Ley looked at her niece’s fine profile, and wondered again at the complexion, made up of the softest colours in the setting sun. Her eyes now were liquid with love, languorous with the shade of long lashes; and her full, sensual mouth was half open with a smile.
“Is my hair very untidy?” asked Bertha, catching Miss Ley’s look and its meaning.
“No, I think it suits you when it is not done too severely.”
“Edward hates it; he likes me to be prim.... And of course I don’t care how I look so long as he’s pleased. Don’t you think he’s very good-looking?” Then without waiting for an answer, she asked a second question.