"My dear, have I not already told you what a perfectly drilled old lady is the mother? It would be as much as her life is worth to interfere in any of her daughter's arrangements. She is utterly dependant on Blanche, and, therefore, perforce, a nonentity. She is expected to remain in the house as a useful piece of furniture; and she is also expected to have neither ears nor eyes nor tongue. Besides, it was not a singular case; Mark was only the last on a long list of admirers. My lady could not exist without a cavalier servente."
"I think it downright abominable," say I, with much warmth.
Bebe looks amused.
"So do I. But what will you? And in spite of all our thoughts Mark came and went unceasingly. Wherever madame appeared, so did her shadow; at every ball he was in close attendance; until, the season dragging to a close, Blanche went abroad for two months, and Mark went down to this part of the world. To 'Duke, was it?"
"No; if you mean the summer before last, he stayed with the Leslies," I admit, somewhat unwillingly. "I met him several times."
"What! you knew him, then, before your marriage?" cries Bebe, with surprise.
"Very slightly. Once or twice he called with the Leslies, and when he returned to town he sent me an exquisite little volume of Tennyson; which delicate attention on his part so enraged papa, that he made me return the book, and forbade my writing to thank Sir Mark for it. So ended our acquaintance."
"Oh, now I have the secret; now I understand why Blanche detests you so," exclaims Bebe, clapping her hands merrily. "So he lost his heart to you, did he? And madame heard all about it, and was rightly furious? Oh, how she must have ground her pretty white teeth in impotent rage on discovering how she was outdone by a simple village maiden! I vow it is a tale that Offenbach's music might adorn."
"How absurd you are, Bebe! How you jump to conclusions! I assure you Sir Mark left our neighborhood as heart-whole as when he came to it."
"Well, I won't dispute the point; but whether it was your fault or not, when Blanche and he again met all was changed. His love had flown, no one knew whither, he still continued to pay her visits, it is true, but not every day and all day long. He still attended the balls to which she went, but not as her slave. Blanche fretted and fumed herself thin at his defection; but it was no use: the spell was broken, and Mark was not to be recalled. You will think me a terrible scandal-monger," says Bebe, with a smile, "but when one hears a thing perpetually discussed one feels an interest in it at last in spite of oneself. You look shocked, Phyllis. I suppose there is no such thing in this quiet country as polite crime?"