"Yes, Irene—he is a soulless scamp. Here is his cousin entirely devoted to him, loving him above everything else in this world, and yet he has not even paid her a visit, except in passing through to Yorktown with his command. He might be a happy man if he would but open his eyes and see what is as plain as the nose on my face—which, you must admit, requires no microscope. She is a gifted woman, and would suit him exactly—even better than my salamander, Salome."
A startled, incredulous expression came into Irene's large eyes, and gradually a look of keen pain settled on her features.
"Aha! did that idea never occur to you before?"
"Never, sir; and you must be mistaken."
"Why, child? The fact is patent. You women profess to be so quick-witted, too, in such matters—I am amazed at your obtuseness. She idolizes Aubrey."
"It is scarcely strange that she should; she has no other relatives near her, and it is natural that she should love her cousin."
"I tell you I know what I say! she will never love anybody else as she loves Aubrey. Besides, what is it to you whether he marries her or not?"
"I feel attached to her, and want to see her happy."
"As Russell's wife?"
"No, sir. The marriage of cousins was always revolting to me."