"You are hopeless, Mary,—you have no intuitions. Of course I mean Paul."
Even this was not perfectly clear, and Mrs. Carvel looked inquiringly at her sister.
"Is it possible you do not understand?" asked Chrysophrasia. "Do you propose to allow my niece—my niece, Mary, and your daughter," she repeated with awful emphasis—"to fall in love with her own cousin?"
"I am sure the dear child would never think of such a thing," answered Mary Carvel, very gently, and as though not wishing to contradict her sister. "He has not been here twenty-four hours."
"The dear child is thinking of it at this very moment," said Chrysophrasia. "And what is more, Paul has come here with the deliberate intention of marrying her. I have seen it from the first moment he entered the house. I can see it in his eyes."
"Well, my dear, you may be right. But I have not noticed anything of the sort, and I think you go too far. You will jump at conclusions, Chrysophrasia."
"If I went at them at all, Mary, I would glide,—I certainly would not jump," replied the æsthetic lady, with a languid smile. Mrs. Carvel looked wearily out of the window. "Besides," continued Chrysophrasia, "the thing is quite impossible. Paul is not at all a match. Hermy will be very rich, some day. John will not leave everything to Macaulay: I have heard him say so."
"Why do you discuss the matter, Chrysophrasia?" objected Mrs. Carvel, with a little shade of very mild impatience. "There is no question of Hermy marrying Paul."
"Then Paul ought to go away at once."
"We cannot send him away. Besides, I think he is a very good fellow. You forget that poor Annie is in the house, and he has a right to see her, at least for a week."