I don't think he's good enough for
Sybil."
Lady Caroom sighed.
"Sybil's a dear girl," she said, "although she's a terrible nuisance to
me. I shouldn't be at all surprised either if she developed views. I
wish you were a marrying man, Arranmore. I used to think of you myself
once, but you would be too old for me now. You're exactly the right age
for Sybil."
Arranmore smiled. He had quite forgotten his letters. Lady Caroom
always amused him so well.
"She is very like what you were at her age," he remarked. "What a pity
it was that I was such a poverty-stricken beggar in those days. I am
sure that I should have married you."
"Now I am beginning to like you," she declared, settling down more
comfortably in her chair. "If you can keep up like that we shall be
getting positively sentimental presently, and if there's anything I
adore in this world--especially before luncheon--it is sentiment. Do
you remember we used to waltz together, Arranmore?"
"You gave me a glove one night," he said. "I have it still."
"And you pressed my hand--and--it was in the Setons' conservatory--how
bold you were.
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