"I wonder whom Roger will marry now," she says, dreamily, breaking in cruelly upon his fond reverie, and dashing to pieces by this speech all the pretty Spanish castles he has been building in mid-air.
"Can you think of nothing but him?" he says, bitterly, with a quick frown.
"Why should I not think of him?" says Dulce, quite as bitterly. "Is it not natural? An hour ago I looked upon him as my future husband; now he is less to me than nothing! A sudden transition, is it not, from one character to another? Then a possible husband, now a stranger! It is surely something to let one's mind dwell upon."
"Well, let us discuss him, then," exclaims he, savagely. "You speak of his marrying. Perhaps he will bestow his priceless charms on Portia."
"Oh, no!" hastily; "Portia is quite unsuited to him."
"Julia, then?"
"Certainly not Julia," disdainfully.
"Miss Vernon, then? She has position and money and so-called beauty."
"Maud Vernon! what an absurd idea; he would be wretched with her."
"Then," with a last remnant of patience, "let us say Lilian Langdale."