ghly and everybody in it."

"I'm sure we are very much flattered."

"As for you, Miss French, I've heard so much about you all my life,
that I felt that I knew you before I came here."

"Who can have spoken to you about me?"

"You forget how many relatives I have in the city. Do you think my
Uncle Barty never writes to me?"

"Not about me."

"Does he not? And do you suppose I don't hear from Miss Stanbury?"

"But she hates me. I know that."

"And do you hate her?"

"No, indeed. I've the greatest respect for her. But she is a little
odd; isn't she, now, Mr. Burgess? We all like her ever so much; and
we've known her ever so long, six or seven years,--since we were
quite young things. But she has such queer notions about girls."

"What sort of notions?"

"She'd like them all to dress just like herself; and she thinks that
they should never talk to young men. If she was here she'd say I was
flirting with you, because we're sitting together."

"But you are not; are you?"

"Of course I am not."

"I wish you would," said Brooke.

"I shouldn't know how to begin. I shouldn't indeed. I don't know what
flirting means, and I don't know who does know. When young ladies and
gentlemen go out, I suppose they are intended to talk to each other."

"But very often they don't, you know."

"I call that stupid," said Camilla. "And yet, when they do, all the
old maids say that the girls are flirting. I'll tell you one thing,
Mr. Burgess. I don't care what any old maid says about me. I always
talk to people that I like, and if they choose to call me a flirt,
they may. It's my opinion that still waters run the deepest."

"No doubt the noisy streams are very shallow," said Brooke.

"You may call me a shallow stream if you like, Mr. Burgess."

"I meant nothing of the kind."

"But what do you call Dorothy Stanbury? That's what I call still
water. She runs deep enough."

"The quietest young lady I ever saw in my life."

"Exactly. So quiet, but so--clever. What do you think of Mr. Gibson?"

"Everybody is asking me what I think of Mr. Gibson."

"You know what they say. They say he is to marry Dorothy Stanbury.
Poor man! I don't think his own consent has ever been asked
yet;--but, nevertheless, it's settled."

"Just at present he seems to me to be,--what shall I say?--I oughtn't
to say flirting with your sister; ought I?"

"Miss Stanbury would say so if she were here, no doubt. But the fact
is, Mr. Burgess, we've kno