And of the many charming things about Gerald Digby the most charming was his smile, which was as infectious as a child's, and exposed a joyous array of large white teeth.
He was smiling at his cousin now, for she was telling him, dryly, yet with a mocking humour all her own, of her Paris fiasco that had delayed her return to London by a fortnight, and, by the expense it had entailed upon her, had deprived her of the new hat and dress that she had hoped in Paris to secure.

Talking of Paris led to the letter she had sent him four or five days ago.

'About this rich American,' said Gerald; 'is she really going to take Merriston, do you think?
It's awfully good of you, Helen, to try and get a tenant for me.' 'I don't know that you'd call her rich--not as Americans go; but I believe she will take Merriston.

She wanted to take it at once, on faith; but I insisted that she must see it first.' 'You must have cried up the dear old place for her to be so eager.' 'I think she is eager about pleasing me,' said Helen.

'I told her that I loved the place and hadn't been there for years, and that moved her very much.