No matter
what subject was introduced, he'd go right back to the one thing that
seemed to interest him,--himself. He lounged back in his chair and made
not the slightest effort to join in the entertainment. In fact, Nora was
the only person he honoured with any notice; and while we all think him
very unmannerly, she--would you believe it!--likes him.
Coming over later in the evening to the corner of the room where Helen,
Fee, Jack and I were, she said to Helen, "Isn't he nice? Did you see the
way he offered me his arm to the piano? so polite, and different from
the generality of boys,--don't you think so?"
"Yes," Helen said, with a smile, "he is quite unlike any of the boys we
know; who _does_ he look like, Nora? We all see a likeness, but can't
think to whom."
"Oh, I know, I've got it, I know," cried Jack, excitedly; "he looks
(except that he hasn't got on knee-breeches and lace ruffles) just like
that picture Max gave you, Felix,--don't you remember?--with a lace
handkerchief in one hand and a snuff-box in the other. Oh, you
_know_,--the French Marquis--"
"You're right, Jack,--so it is; he does look like 'Monsieur le
Marquis,'" Nora said, glancing at Chad.
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