"You are angry, Mary," replied her sister. "Good-by. I cannot bear the strain of arguing with you. When you are calmer you will remember what I have said."
Poor Mrs. Carvel certainly exhibited none of the ordinary symptoms of anger, as she quietly left the room, with an expression of pain upon her gentle face. When Chrysophrasia was very unreasonable her only course was to go away; for she was wholly unable to give a rough answer, or to defend herself against her sister's attacks. Mary went in search of her husband, and was glad to find him in the library, among his books.
"John dear, may I come in?" asked Mrs. Carvel, opening the door of her husband's library, and standing on the threshold.
"By all means," exclaimed John, looking up. "Anything wrong?" he inquired, observing the expression of his wife's face.
"John," said Mrs. Carvel, coming near to him and laying her hand gently on his shoulder, "tell me—do you think there is likely to be anything between Paul and Hermy?"
"Gracious goodness! what put that into your head?" asked Carvel.
"I have been with Chrysophrasia"—began Mary.
"Chrysophrasia! Oh! Is that it?" cried John in discontented tones. "I wish Chrysophrasia would mind her own business, and not talk nonsense!"
"It is nonsense, is it not?"
"Of course,—absolute rubbish! I would not hear of it, to begin with!" he exclaimed, as though that were sufficient evidence that the thing was impossible.