“Oh, every one's talking of it, I assure you. And you know his family?”
“I knew his father once rather better than anybody else.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes.” Munt sketched rather a flattered portrait of the elder Mavering, his ability, his goodness, his shyness, which he had always had to make such a hard fight with. Munt was sensible of an access of popularity in knowing Dan Mavering's people, and he did not spare his colours.
“Then it isn't from his father that he gets everything. He isn't in the least shy,” said Miss Cotton.
“That must be the mother.”
“And the mother?”
“The mother I don't know.”
Miss Cotton sighed. “Sometimes I wish that he did show a little more trepidation. It would seem as if he were more alive to the great difference that there is between Alice Pasmer and other girls.”
Munt laughed a man's laugh. “I guess he's pretty well alive to that, if he's in love with her.”