“Father would be pleased.”
Flora reverted, unmistakably, to the topic of Owen Quentillian.
“I suppose so,” said Val doubtfully.
“But you know he would! He is delighted with Owen, and it would be so close to us—only an hour’s journey. I think it would be very nice, Val,” said Flora wistfully, “and it’s time one of us got married. Lucilla won’t, now, and nobody ever asks me, so it had better be you.”
They both laughed.
“Nobody has ever asked me, except that curate we had before Mr. Clover, and I always thought he was more or less weak-minded,” Valeria remarked candidly.
“They may not have asked you, but they’ve wanted to,” said Flora shrewdly. “Don’t answer if you’d rather not, but didn’t Captain Cuscaden ever...?”
Val crimsoned suddenly.
“No. That was all nonsense. I believe he’s in love with that Olga girl.”
“After you? Oh, Val!”