"I—jealous?"
Mrs. Barrast shrugged her elegant shoulders. "Well, my dear, it looks like it, you know. You needn't be if you are, I'm sure, for I can't marry him, and I have no intention of running away with the dear thing."
"He wouldn't run away with you if you wanted to," said Alice crossly, and could have bitten out her tongue for the speech.
"Really!" Mrs. Barrast tittered significantly. "Has it gone as far as that?"
"What do you mean?" Alice grew red.
"My dear! You are a woman talking to a woman, so there is no need for you to try and deceive me. You want to marry this charming young fellow!"
"I don't admit that, Amy."
"Whether you admit it or deny it, what I state is the case."
"You have no right to say so. I like Mr. Montrose. I admire him!"
"Words! Words! Words! You love him. Look at yourself in the glass, my dear. I think your colour tells the truth."