You may not be interested in him, but I am.

My mother is so fond of him--my father trusted him." "Ah!" "There, again," cried Lucille, with a laugh of annoyance.

"You say 'Ah!' and it means nothing.

I look at your face and it says nothing.
With us it is different--we have a hundred little exclamations--look at mother when she talks--but in England when you say 'Ah!' you seem to mean nothing.." Lucille laughed and looked at Isabella, who only smiled.
"Well ?" "Well," answered Isabella, reluctantly, "if Mr.Howard's mother had lived he might have been a better man." "You call him Mr.Howard," cried Lucille, darting into one of those side issues by which women so often reach their goal.

"Do you call him so to his face ?" "No." "What do you call him ?" asked Lucille, with the persistence of a child on a trifle.
"Dick." "And yet you do not like him ?" "I have never thought whether I like him or not--one does not think of such questions with people who are like one's own family." "But surely," said Lucille, "one cannot like a person who is not good ?" "Of course not," answered the other, with her shadowy smile.