She took her mother's hand, and kissed it lightly.
"My daughter, are you really sick?"
"Very, mamma; such fits of palpitation."
"I never saw you look better. I shall tell no stories for you to Mrs.
St. Clare."
"Cruel mamma! when you know how my tender maidenly sensibilities are just now lacerated by the signal success of such patient manoeuvring! Tell Mrs. St. Clare that like the man in the Bible who could not attend the supper, because he had married a wife, I stayed at home to ponder my brilliant prospects as Madame Silas——"
"Olga!" exclaimed Mrs. Palma, with a warning gesture toward Regina.
"Do you think I could hide my bliss from her? She knows the honour proffered me, and has promised to keep the secret."
"Until the gentleman had received a positive and final acceptance, I should imagine such confidence premature."
Mrs. Palma spoke sternly, and withdrew her fingers from her daughter's clasp.
"As if there were even a ghost of a doubt as to the final acceptance! As if I dared play this heavy fish an instant, with such a frail line? Ah, mamma! don't tease me by such tactics! I am but an insignificant mouse, and you and Mr. Congreve are such a grim pair of cats, that I should never venture the faintest squeak. Don't roll me under your velvet paws, and pat me playfully, trying to arouse false hopes of escape, when all the while you are resolved to devour me presently. Don't! I am a wiry mouse, proud and sensitive, and some mice, it is said, will not permit insult added to injury."