“Now, are you satisfied, madam?” he inquired of Mrs. Vivian.
The little lady shook her jetty ringlets, and slowly picked her marabout fan to pieces.
“I think mamma wishes to know why these things need be so,” said Rosalie.
“My sweet Miss Vivian, little maidens should be seen, and not heard.”
“Don’t tempt Mr. Bolling beyond his depth, Rosalie,” smiled the widow; and not suiting the action to the word, she handed Uncle Billy an orange she had just peeled.
The little gentleman received the attention with a deprecating, humble bow, and, to prevent inconvenient questioning, turned to Miss Sutherland, and inquired when she had heard from her cousin Mark, winking with what he supposed to be a killing leer.
The beauty slightly raised her lip and arched her brows, but deigned no other answer.
“Oh, she has not heard from Mr. Sutherland for three whole days, and his last letter was but twelve pages long. I am afraid he is fickle, like the rest. I should not wonder if he were now the humble servant of some northern blue ——. It is written, ‘put not your trust in’—pantaloons. Men are so uncertain,” said Valeria.
“Men are so uncertain! What men? Uncertain in what respect?”
“All men are uncertain, in all things!”