"Who's to get the grub?"
"I—don't understand you."
"Oh, yes, you do. What are you and Rothsay to live on after you are married? He is poor as a church mouse, and you are not much richer. You are reported to be an heiress and all that, but you know very well that you cannot touch a cent of your money until you are twenty-five years old, and not even then if you have married in the interim without our great Mogul's consent. Such are the wise provisions of our father's will. Now then, when you and Rule are married, what is to make the pot boil?"
"There is no question of marriage between Mr. Rothsay and myself," replied Cora, with a fine assumption of dignity, which was, however, quite, lost on Sylvan, who favored her with a broad stare and then exclaimed:
"No question of marriage between you? My stars and garters! then there ought to be, for you are both carrying on at a—at a—at a most tremendous rate!"
Cora took up her book and walked out of the room in stately displeasure.
No; there had been no question of marriage between them; no spoken question, at least, up to this day.
This was true to-day, but it was not true on the following day, when Cora and Rule, being alone in the parlor, fell into thoughtful silence, neither knowing exactly why.
This was broken at last by Rule.
"Cora, will you look at me, dear?"