At least," and he laughed a little greasy laugh at his
wit, "we like theirs. And then--afraid--well, if my sister were so
attractive"--he looked to see if this pretty compliment was
effective--"I should not like her to be without anybody in the
house."
Pauline became impatient. She rose. "When you come again," she
said, "I hope my father will be here."
Mr. Thomas rose too. He had begun to feel awkward. For want of
something better to say, he asked whose was the portrait over the
mantelpiece.
"Major Cartwright."
"Major Cartwright! Dear me, is that Major Cartwright?" He had never
heard of him before, but he did not like to profess ignorance of a
Major.
"And this likeness of this young gentleman?" he inquired, looking at
Pauline sideways, with an odious simper on his lips. "Nobody I know,
I suppose?"
"My father when he was one-and-twenty." She moved towards the door.
Mr. Thomas closed his fat eyes till they became almost slits,
simpered still more effectively, as he thought, trusted he might have
the pleasure of calling again, and departed.
Pauline returned, opened the window and door for ten minutes, and
went upstairs.
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