“Whether, whether you meant anything in earnest?”
“My dear little goose, did no one ever make an innocent joke in their lives before?”
“It was very silly of me,” said Meta; “but you gave me a terrible fright.”
“Was it so very terrible, poor little bird?” said Flora, in commiseration. “Well then, you may safely think of him as a man tame about the house. It was much prettier of you not to appropriate the flowers, as any other damsel would have done.”
“Do you really and truly think—” began Meta; but, from the colour of her cheek and the timid resolution of her tone, Flora thought it safest not to hear the interrogation, and answered, “I know what he comes here for—it is only as a refuge from his mother’s friend, old Lady Drummond, who would give the world to catch him for her daughters—that’s all. Put my nonsense out of your head, and be yourself, my sweet one.”
Flora had never gone so near an untruth, as when she led Meta to believe this was the sole reason. But, after all, what did Flora herself know to the contrary?
Meta recovered her ease, and Flora marked, as weeks passed on, that she grew more accustomed to Sir Henry’s attentions. A little while, and she would find herself so far bound by the encouragement she had given, that she could not reject him.
“My dear,” said George, “when do you think of going down to take the baby to the Grange? She looks dull, I think.”
“Really, I think it is hardly worth while to go down en masse,” said Flora. “These last debates may be important, and it is a bad time to quit one’s post. Don’t you think so?”
“As you please—the train is a great bore.”