I am more sorry than I can
say, Magdalen, to meet you as I met you here just now!"
"What next, I wonder? You meet me in the shrubbery at home, talking over
the private theatricals with my old playfellow, whom I knew when I was
no taller than this parasol. And that is a glaring impropriety, is it?
'Honi soit qui mal y pense.' You wanted an answer a minute ago--there it
is for you, my dear, in the choicest Norman-French."
"I am in earnest about this, Magdalen--"
"Not a doubt of it. Nobody can accuse you of ever making jokes."
"I am seriously sorry--"
"Oh, dear!"
"It is quite useless to interrupt me. I have it on my conscience to tell
you--and I _will_ tell you--that I am sorry to see how this intimacy is
growing. I am sorry to see a secret understanding established already
between you and Mr. Francis Clare."
"Poor Frank! How you do hate him, to be sure. What on earth has he done
to offend you?"
Norah's self-control began to show signs of failing her. Her dark cheeks
glowed, her delicate lips trembled, before she spoke again. Magdalen
paid more attention to her parasol than to her sister. She tossed it
high in the air and caught it.
Pages:
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115