A dark young man was elbowing
his way through the mixed crowd towards them.
"What is his name?" asked Dora, who was still looking at the man with a
purpose.
"General Seymour Michael."
"The Indian man?"
"Yes."
There was a little pause, during which Miss Mazerod glanced in the
direction of the younger man, who had been detained by a stout lady with
a purple dress and a depressed daughter.
"I should like to know him," said Dora.
"Nothing easier," replied her cousin, still absorbed in the fan. "I know
him quite well."
"He is looking at you now."
Miss Mazerod looked up and bowed with a little jerk, as if she felt too
young to be stately; one of those bows that say "Come here."
At this moment the younger man came up and shook hands effusively with
Dora, slowly with Miss Mazerod.
"Jack," said that young lady, "I have just beamed on General Michael, who
is behind you. I want to introduce him to Dora."
Jack seemed to think this an excellent idea, and stepped aside with
alacrity.
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