As he nervously draws near, she lifts her eyes with a lovely friendliness to his face.

He is poor, slightly thought of, sickly, not over-clever; probably she will talk to him all the evening.
"Look at Barbara!" say I, with deep admiration, familiarly laying my hand on Sir Roger's coat-sleeve, to make sure of engaging his attention, "that is always her way! Did you ever see any thing so cruelly shy as that poor little man is?
See! he is wriggling all over like an eel! He came to call the other day, and while he was talking to mother I watched him.

He tore a pair of quite new tea-green gloves into thin strips, like little thongs! He must find it rather expensive work, if he makes many morning calls, must he not ?" "Rather!" "I am sure that you and Barbara would get on," continue I, loquaciously, leaning my head on my hand, and talking in that low, comfortable voice that our proximity warrants; "I cannot understand how it was that you did not make great friends that first night! I suppose that you are not poor and ugly and depressed enough for her to make much of you! Shall I make a sign to her to come over and talk to us ?" Sir Roger does not accept my proposal with the alacrity I had expected.
"Do not you think that she looks very comfortable where she is ?" he asks, rather doubtfully.
I am a little disappointed.
"I am sure she would like you," I say, with a dogmatic shake of the head.

"I told her that you were--well, that _I_ got on with you, and we always like the same people." "That must be awkward sometimes ?" "What do you mean?
Oh! not in _that_ way--" (with an unblushing heart-whole laugh).

"Lucky for me that we do not." "Lucky for _you_ ?" (interrogatively).
"Why _will_ you make me say things that sound mock-modest ?" cry I, reddening a little this time.