“What grounds have you for supposing the girl would wait for eighteen months in absolute ignorance of who you were? Have you ever spoken to her, as her equal?”
“Yes, once,” and he described their walk two days previously. “I stated a similar case; I made the most of my time, and asked her what she would do under such circumstances.”
“My dear Owen,”—and she looked at him with an expression of wonder in her eyes—“I am simply staggered at your presumption!”
“Yes, so was I; but, you see, it was my only chance, and I snatched it.”
“And what did she answer. That it was evident you were an uncertified lunatic!”
“No; she said ‘Perhaps.’”
“‘Je m’en vais, chercher un grand peut-être,’ as some one said on his death-bed.”
“Don’t talk French—or of death-beds, Sis.”
“No, I won’t. I see that your divinity is a clever, modern young woman, who refuses to commit herself. Look here, Owen, I won’t tease you any more; this situation is such that it even baffles the activity of my clever and contriving mind! I’m afraid I can do nothing at present; but when we return from America, I shall make a point of cultivating General and Mrs. Morven, on account of the girl. I’ll cultivate the girl for your sake, and ask her to stay in Mount Street. Possibly she may open her heart to me, and tell me everything! I have a wonderful knack of extracting similar confidences even from my housemaids! I shall listen sympathetically, advise sagaciously, and urge her to stick to you!”
“Yes, I know that once you take a thing in hand, Sis, it goes like an express train; but you will be away for six months—six months is a long time.”