He's very well off. You might do worse, dear. He's
considered quite a catch down in this part of the country."
"How old is he?" Dolly asked, innocently enough, standing up by the
bedside in her dainty white nightgown. But Winnie caught at her
meaning with the preternatural sharpness of the girl brought up in
immediate contact with the landed interest. "Oh, he's of age," she
answered quickly, with a knowing nod. "He's come into the
property; he has nobody on earth but himself to consult about his
domestic arrangements."
Dolly was young; Dolly was pretty; Dolly's smile won the world;
Dolly was still at the sweetest and most susceptible of ages.
Walter Brydges was well off; Walter Brydges was handsome; Walter
Brydges had all the glamour of a landed estate, and an Oxford
education. He was a young Greek god in a Norfolk shooting-jacket.
Moreover, he was a really good and pleasant young fellow. What
wonder, therefore, if before a week was out, Dolly was very really
and seriously in love with him? And what wonder if Walter Brydges
in turn, caught by that maiden glance, was in love with Dolly? He
had every excuse, for she was lithe, and beautiful, and a joyous
companion; besides being, as the lady's maid justly remarked, a
perfect lady.
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