“Precisely; the romance minus the disagreeables. Only the sea monster wanting. Young Alcides, and rock—you stood there for sacrifice, I was the weeping Dardanian dames.”
Even Grace could not help laughing at the mischief of the one, and the earnest seriousness of the other.
“Now, Bessie, I entreat that you will not make a ridiculous story of a most simple affair,” implored Rachel.
“I promise not to make one, but don’t blame me if it makes itself.”
“It cannot, unless some of us tell the story.”
“What, do you expect the young Alcides to hold his tongue? That is more than can be hoped of mortal landscape painter.”
“I wish you would not call him so. I am sure he is a clergyman.”
“Landscape painter, I would lay you anything you please.”
“Nay,” said Grace, “according to you, that is just what he ought not to be.”
“I do not understand what diverts you so much,” said Rachel, growing lofty in her displeasure. “What matters it what the man may be?”