She could have seen me, too, of course, if she'd looked up.

But she didn't.
I never even thought of hearing anything I hadn't ought, and I was just going to get down to go and speak to Mother myself, when Mr.
Harlow crossed the room and sat down on the sofa beside her.
"Dreaming, Madge ?" he said, low and soft, his soulful eyes just devouring her lovely face.

(I read that, too, in a book last week.

I just loved it!) Mother started and flushed up.
"Oh, Mr.Harlow!" she cried.

(Mother always calls him "Mr." That's another thing.