"My dear' Miss MacCarthy," one would run--
"Why were you not on the boat yesterday? I looked for you till
it was no use looking longer, and then the journey was blank.
How charmingly that big hat suits you, and those jonquils at
your neck. Might l beg one of the flowers? just one, please,
Aldith.
Your devoted friend,
James Graham."
And Aldith's, written on a sheet of her note-book with a pink
programme pencil that she always kept in her purse, might be
no worse than:
"Dear Mr. Graham,
"What EVER can you want these flowers at my neck for? They have
been there all day, and are dead and spoiled. I can't IMAGINE what
good they'll be to you. Still, of course, if you REALLY care for
them you shall have them. I am so glad you like this hat. I shall
always like it NOW. Did you REALLY miss me yesterday? I had gone
to have my photo taken. Marguerite thinks it very good indeed,
but I am SURE it flatters me TOO much.
Yours truly,
L. Aldith Evelyn MacCarthy."
Now Mr. James Graham had a great friend in one of the before-mentioned
Courtney boys, Andrew by name. He was a handsome lad of eighteen,
still a schoolboy, but possessed of fascinating manners and a pair
of really beautiful eyes.
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