The American Boy

‘I do not know.’ I looked into her face. ‘Can you not ask him yourself?’

She shook her head. ‘I scarcely know him. We were introduced, but he has no conversation. Anyway, why should he wish to waste his time talking nonsense to a chit of a girl?’

I made no reply, for none was needed, or not in words. The question hung in the air between us and she blushed. Our eyes met and we smiled at each other. Flora was never beautiful but when she smiled it made your heart leap.

‘Poor dear Sophie – Mrs Frant,’ she said suddenly, perhaps eager to steer the conversation elsewhere. ‘She has nothing, you know, nothing left at all. Mr Frant even took the rest of her jewels. She had given him most of them already but on the day he went away he broke into a drawer of her dressing table and took what was left – the ones that were especially dear to her, that she hoped to save from the wreckage.’

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