"Charlie is my first cousin once removed," said Paulina, "and he occupies no higher position than that of clerk in the stores of a linen company at Indianapolis. But I don't care what he is—he is just Charlie."
"Oh, I understand," I said.
"Of course you do, Nan; you can't help understanding," said Paulina. "And you can easily see how this ill wind may blow me good, for now my dowry has taken to itself wings, no duke will want to make me a duchess. Charles becomes eligible, therefore my cloud has a silver lining."
"Then your father has no dislike to him personally," I said.
"He cannot have, really, though he's been rather ugly in trying to find fault with him," she replied. "Charlie's only fault is that he has poor relations. Poppa is fond of boasting that he began life with a dollar, but he has no very kindly feeling for those who began in a similar way and have not made much of the dollar. But we're all poor relations now, so I hope he will be more sensible. What are you smiling at, Nan?"
I was amused to think how this secret attachment to 'Charlie' had lain behind the open, unblushing flirtations which had startled me till I discovered how harmless they were.
"What a fraud you have been, Paulina!" I remarked. "Do you know that Miss Cottrell credited you with being attracted by Mr. Faulkner."
"No, really! What a joke! Me and the Professor! What an ill-matched couple we should have been!" And Paulina leaned back in her chair and laughed heartily.
"But you know," she continued after a moment, "in spite of her love of research, Miss Cottrell is not gifted with keen penetration. But she is a good creature, and I really believe—"
She stopped, her words arrested by the appearance of a telegraph-boy riding up to the gate on a bicycle.