“Miss Anderson seems to have a good deal of business in Washington too,” observed Brinkley, with some hazy notion of saying a pleasant rallying thing to the young man. He wondered at the glare his wife gave him. With those panned oysters before him he had forgotten all about Dan's love affair with Miss Pasmer.
Mrs. Brinkley hastened to make the mention of Miss Anderson as impersonal as possible.
“It was so nice to meet her again. She is such an honest, wholesome creature, and so bright and full of sense. She always made me think of the broad daylight. I always liked that girl.”
“Yes; isn't she jolly?” said Dan joyously. “She seems to know everybody here. It's a great piece of luck for me. They're going to take a house in Washington next winter.”
“Yes; I know that stage,” said Mrs. Brinkley. “Her aunt's an amusingly New-York respectability. I don't think you'd find just such Miss Mitford curls as hers in all Boston.”
“Yes, they are like the portraits, aren't they?” said Dan; delighted. “She's very nice, don't you think?”
“Very. But Miss Anderson is more than that. I was disposed to be critical of her at Campobello for a while, but she wore extremely well. All at once you found yourself admiring her uncommon common-sense.
“Yes. That's just it,” cried Dan. “She is so sensible!”
“I think she's very pretty,” said Mrs. Brinkley.
“Well, her nose,” suggested Dan. “It seems a little capricious.”