Superciliously, her delicate nose in the air, Aurelia looked him over. “Ah, indeed! But then you see sensible people never object to the lies that are told about them. What we do object to is the truth. Now when we are married—if we ever are——”
“Aurelia,” the poor devil pathetically interrupted, “you never say when we are married without adding if we ever are!”
“That’s to teach you not to take things for granted. I have been engaged before—and may be again.”
“B-before!” the flustered Buttercups stuttered. “A-again!”
Frostily this ingénue considered the youth. “Parsnips, don’t look at me in that fashion, you inflame me.”
She cocked an ear. “What’s that?”
At the gate the bell was ringing and unperceived by either Emmanuel had reappeared. The footman was descending the garden. Midway he stopped.
“I have the honour to inform mademoiselle that madame la comtesse is momentarily awaited.”
He bowed, moved on, opened the gate through which then a brief procession passed:—Silverstairs, a green bag under his arm; de Fresnoy, a stick under his; an old man with a small valise; finally Verplank.
Verplank, raising his hat, approached Aurelia. De Fresnoy, after saluting the young woman, addressed the old man.