"You will return then, of course?"
"What do you say?"
"As for myself,—or as for you?"
"As a discreet and trusty counsellor. To me you have always been a trusty counsellor."
"Then I should put a few things into a bag, go down to Merle Park, and declare that, in spite of all the edicts that ever came from a father's mouth, you cannot absent yourself while you know that your Gertrude is ill."
"And so prepare a new cousin for you to press to your bosom."
"If you can endure her for always, why should not I for an hour or two, now and again?"
"Why not, indeed? In fact, Imogene, this enduring, and not enduring,—even this living, and not living,—is, after all, but an affair of the imagination. Who can tell but, that as years roll on, she may be better-looking even than you."
"Certainly."
"And have as much to say for herself?"