Olga laughs lightly. There is something about this plain girl that repels the idea of offence.
"What on earth put that idea into your head?" says her hostess, opening her eyes, who talks too much both in season and out of it to be able to see all the by-play going on around her. "You aren't setting your cap at him, are you, Olga my dear?"
"Indeed, no," says Olga, still laughing. "How could so absurd a notion have got into anybody's head?"
"How, indeed?" says Monica, gayly.
"There's Owen Kelly, then; though he isn't as well off as Rossmoyne, still he will be worth looking after by and by, when the old man drops off. He's as good hearted a fellow as ever lived, when you know what he's at,—which isn't often, to do him justice. It struck me he was very civil to you last night."
"He was," says Miss Browne, whose merriment is on the increase. "But I never met any one who wasn't civil to me: so I found him commonplace enough. Ah! if he had only been uncivil, now!"
"Well, there he is, at all events," says Madam O'Connor, sententiously.
"I hope he's comfortable," says Miss Browne, kindly, "I shan't try to make him less so, at least. Why don't you recommend Mr. Desmond or Mr. Ronayne to my notice?" with a mischievous glance at Monica and Olga Bohun.
"I'm afraid they are done for," says Madam, laughing now herself. "And I only hope that handsome boy Ronayne isn't laying up sorrow for himself and living in a fool's paradise. Indeed, Olga, pretty as you are, I'll be very angry with you if I hear you have been playing fast and loose with him."
The old lady shakes her head grimly at Mrs. Bohun, who pretends to be crushed beneath her glance.