"
"But if he was English and a colonel," Jack said suddenly, "he must have
been all of--"
"Fifty!" interposed Burnett; "oh, he was! Maybe more, but he dyed his
hair. It was a splendid match for her. It isn't every girl who can get a--"
Their conversation was suddenly cut short by voices, accompanied by a sort
of sweet and silky storm of little rustles and the sound of feet--little
feet--coming down the great hall. Aunt Mary's nephew felt himself suddenly
wondering if any other fellow present had such a tempest within his bosom
as he himself was conscious of attempting to regulate unperceived.
And then, after all, she wasn't among the influx! Miss Maude, was, though,
and he had to go up to her and talk to her; and terribly dull hard labor
it was.
While he was rolling the Sisyphus stone of conversation uphill for the
sixth or seventh time, Jack noticed a gentleman pass by and throw a more
than ordinarily interesting glance their way. He was a very well-built,
fairly good-sized man of thirty-five or forty years, with a handsome,
uninteresting face and heavy, sleepy dark eyes.
"Who is that?" he asked of his companion, his curiosity supplementing his
wish that she would begin to bear her share of the burden of her
entertainment.
"Don't you know?" she said in surprise. "That's Mr. Holloway. He's just
come. Oh, he's so horrid! I think he's just too awfully horrid for any
use."
"Why?"
"Because he does such mean things. I just know Bob must have told you how
he treated me.
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