‘What should make any one choose that?’ cried Eveleen.
‘I know!’ said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking up. ‘I shall never forget the tufts of lavender round the kitchen garden at Stylehurst.’
Philip smiled. Charlotte proceeded, and Charles saw Laura’s colour deepening as she bent over her work.
‘“Lavender—steadfastness—Strafford—Cordelia in ‘King Lear’—the late war.” How funny!’ cried Charlotte. ‘For hear the next: “Honeysuckle—steadfastness—Lord Strafford—Cordelia—the present time.” Why, Laura, you must have copied it from Philip’s.’
Laura neither looked nor spoke. Philip could hardly command his countenance as Eveleen laughed, and told him he was much flattered by those becoming blushes. But here Charles broke in,—‘Come, make haste, Charlotte, don’t be all night about it;’ and as Charlotte paused, as if to make some dangerous remark, he caught the paper, and read the next himself. Nothing so startled Philip as this desire to cover their confusion. Laura was only sensible of the relief of having attention drawn from her by the laugh that followed.
‘A shamrock—Captain Rock—the tailor that was “blue moulded for want of a bating”—Pat Riotism—the time of Malachy with the collar of gold.’
‘Eva!’ cried Charlotte.
‘Nonsense,’ said Eveleen; ‘I am glad I know your tastes, Charles. They do you honour.’
‘More than yours do, if these are yours,’ said Charles, reading them contemptuously; ‘Rose—generosity—Charles Edward—Catherine Seyton—the civil wars.’
‘You had better not have disowned Charlie’s, Lady Eveleen,’ said Guy.