"Mark Gore is a confirmed old bachelor, and knows nothing," says Dulce, contemptuously.
"Yet once, they say, he was hopelessly in love with Phyllis Carrington."
"So he was. It was quite a romance, and he was the hero."
"Phyllis is quite everything she ought to be, and utterly sweet," says Portia, thoughtfully. "But is she the sort of person to create a grande passion in a man like Mark?"
"I daresay. Her eyes are lovely; so babyish, yet so full of latent coquetry. A man of the world, like Mark, would like that sort of thing. But it is all over now, quite a worn-out tale. He visits there at stated times, and she has thoughts only for her baby and her 'Duke,' as she calls her husband."
"I wonder," says Miss Vibart, with a faint yawn, "if at times she doesn't find that a trifle slow?"
Then she grows a little ashamed of herself, as she catches Dulce's quick, puzzled glance.
"It is a very pretty baby," says Dulce, as though anxious to explain matters.
"And what can be more adorable than a pretty baby?" responds her cousin, with a charming smile. "Now do tell me"—quickly, and as though to change the current of her companion's thoughts—"how many people are in this house, and who they are, and everything that is bad and good about them."
Dulce laughs.