Whilst Elinor was reading, the gardener passed the summer-house, and Constance went out and spoke to him. Elinor looked significantly at Marian.
“Nelly,” returned Marian, in hushed tones of reproach, “you have stabbed poor Constance to the heart by telling her that Marmaduke never proposed to her. That is why she has gone out.”
“Yes,” said Elinor, “it was brutal. But I thought, as you made such a fuss about the letter, that it must have been a proposal at least. It cant be helped now. It is one more enemy for me, that is all.”
“What do you think of the letter? Was it not kind of him to write—considering how careless he is usually?”
“Hm! Did he match the silk properly?”.
“To perfection. He must really have taken some trouble. You know how he botched getting the ribbon for his fancy dress at the ball last year.”
“That is just what I was thinking about. Do you remember also how he ridiculed the Louvre after his first trip to Paris, and swore that nothing would ever induce him to enter it again?”
“He has got more sense now. He says in the letter that he spent yesterday there.”
“Not exactly. He says ‘we spent a pleasant day looking at the pictures.’ Who is ‘we’?”
“Some companion of his, I suppose. Why?”