‘Does any one know?’ said Reginald.
‘Only ourselves and Mr. Mohun; and I think Lord Rotherwood guesses, from something I heard him say to Jane.’
‘To Jane?’ said Reginald. ‘That is provoking; she will think she found it out all herself, and be so conceited!’
‘You need not be afraid,’ said Marianne, laughing; ‘Jane is on a wrong scent.’
‘Jane? Oh! I should like to see her out in her reckonings! I should like to have a laugh against her. What does she think, Marianne?’
‘Oh! I cannot tell you; it is too bad.’
‘Oh! do; do, pray. You may whisper it if it is too bad for Phyllis to hear.’
‘No, no,’ said Marianne; ‘it is nothing but nonsense. If you hear it, Phyllis shall too; but mind, you must promise not to say anything to anybody, or I do not know what will become of me.’
‘Well, we will not,’ said Reginald; ‘boys can always keep secrets, and I’ll engage for Phyl. Now for it.’
‘She is in a terrible fright lest it should be Mr. Mohun. She got it into her head last autumn, and all I could say would not persuade her out of it. Why, she always calls me Aunt Marianne when we are alone. Now, Reginald, here comes Maurice. Do not say anything, I beg and entreat. It is my secret, you know. I daresay you will all be told to-morrow,—indeed, mamma said so,—but pray say nothing about me or Jane. It was only settled yesterday evening.’