"Oh!" said June.
"And owns a very fine private collection of the Dutch School."
"Does he?" It was June's turn now to be impersonal; in fact, it was up to her to let him see that it would take more than Sir Arthur Babraham and a private collection of the Dutch School to impress her.
"I suppose his daughter is what you'd call rather fetching?" She had once heard the word on the lips of the admired Miss Banks at a charity bazaar.
But in William's opinion it was not adequate to the occasion.
"To my mind," he said, and his voice fell, "she's a none-such."
June stepped midway in the act of bestowing upon him a second helping of tapioca.
"She's a what?" she demanded fiercely.
"A museum piece, Miss June." His enthusiasm was restrained but none the less absurd. "She's hall-*marked. She walks in beauty." A blush, faint yet becoming, slowly overspread William's delicately tinted complexion.
June snorted. Had it been within the province of eyes to slay, this Gaby would have had no use for a second helping of tapioca.
"Glad to know that!" said June, homicidally. "As you are so set on beauty, you must have had an interesting morning."
A disgracefully impersonal silence was William's only answer. The deadliness of the observation seemed completely lost upon him. But was it?—that was the question for gods and Woman. Such a silence might mean anything.
