'He's one of the richest men in Paris for all that,' observed Margaret.
'There!' exclaimed Mrs. Rushmore. 'Now you're defending him! I told you so!'
'I don't quite see——'
'Of course not. You're much too young to understand such things. The wretch has designs on you. I don't care what you say, my dear, he has designs.'
In Mrs. Rushmore's estimation she could say nothing worse of any human being than that.
'What sort of "designs"?' inquired Margaret, somewhat amused.
'In the first place, he wants to marry you. You admit that he does. My dear Margaret, it's bad enough that you should talk in your cold-blooded way of going on the stage, but that you should ever marry a Greek! Good heavens, child! What do you think I am made of? And then you ask me what designs the man has. It's not to be believed!'
'I must be very dull,' said Margaret in a patient tone, 'but I don't understand.'
'I do,' retorted Mrs. Rushmore with severity, 'and that's enough! Wasn't I your dear mother's best friend? Haven't I been a good friend to you?'
'Indeed you have!' cried Margaret very gratefully.