“Do they?” she answered, and turned a pair of mermaid eyes on to his profile, and tried to recall things that he had said.
Under the scrutiny he turned his face to her again, laughing.
“Still the old trick of staring, Rosalie.”
“You must be very careful how you speak to me. See, I carry my chaperon in my muff,” and she tilted it up and showed the frog sitting there.
“If you had lived two hundred years ago, they’d have called that little animal your familiar spirit, and burnt you as a witch. Where did you get it from?”
“Another secret, Mr. Barringcourt. You must be still more charming, and I’ll count twenty every time before I speak. But when may I see Mariana?”
“Mariana has forgotten you.”
“Has she married Everard, then?”
“Oh, no! Their friendship is as pleasant as iced milk in summer. If you want to see Mariana, you must come and seek her.”
Rosalie bit her lip. “I’ve told you I won’t.”