And if we find him pining for
afternoon tea we can send him over here."
"Well, if he's nice. But I suppose he's pretty sure to
be nice. Any friend of the Emmetts--What is he like,
Lorne?"
"Oh, he's just a young man with a moustache! You seem to
see a good many over there. They're all alike while
they're at school in round coats, and after they leave
school they get moustaches, and then they're all alike
again."
"I wish you wouldn't tease. How tall is he? Is he fair
or dark? What colour are his eyes?"
Lorne buried his head in his hands in a pretended agony
of recollection.
"So far as I remember, not exactly tall, but you wouldn't
call him short. Complexion--well, don't you know?--that
kind of middling complexion. Colour of his eyes--does
anybody ever notice a thing like that? You needn't take
my word for it, but I should say they were a kind of
average coloured eyes."
"Lorne! You ARE--I suppose I'll just have to wait till
I see him. But the girls are wild to know, and I said
I'd ask you. He'll be here in about two weeks anyhow,
and I dare say we won't find him so much to make a fuss
about. The best sort of Englishmen don't come over such
a very great deal, as you say. I expect they have a better
time at home."
"Hesketh's a very good sort of Englishman," said Lorne.
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