"Yes, and no," says Margaret. "My cousin has confided a sort of secret to me."
"A secret! I may not hear it, then?"
"Well, I don't know. It is, as I have hinted, a sort of secret, not very much to be kept."
"I may hear it, then?"
"I suppose so. At all events," with a laugh, soft and silk, "I should like you to hear it, because I want your opinion. You will give it?"
"You know I will give you everything I have," says he.
"Oh no! you must not talk like that," says she. "Put all that on one side, and let me have you for my friend. I want one now—not for myself, but for another; for two others, in fact. You know how fond I am of Maurice, and lately I have contracted quite a romantic, for me"—she pauses and laughs—"well, quite a romantic affection, for a little girl staying here with my aunt. You know who I mean—Tita Bolton."
"A charming child?"
"I am so glad you like her! But, as you say, she is a mere child; and Maurice has proposed to her, and she has accepted him, and I am curious about her future."
"Hers only?"