"He's not a rascal; I'm sure he's not a rascal." Gwen stamped her foot and grew very red.
"Oh yes, he is, my dear. To propose to one girl and to make love to another is not right. I must inquire into his character, you know, so as to see if he is a decent man to know. Now Mademoiselle Zara can tell us the truth. But I don't want you to be present."
"But I shall!" cried Miss Evans, with another stamp. "It is my right to be present. The explanation concerns me more than any one else."
"Oh, well, if you insist upon being present, I have no more to say." Mrs. Perage shrugged her shoulders, and making a wilful mistake. "Did you say 'present' or 'pleasant'?"
"Pleasant. You must be pleasant to Mademoiselle Zara, as, after all, you do not care anything for your cousin."
"I do. All the same I am angry with him. I shall be present and be pleasant just as I please. And now I shall take a walk in the park so as to calm my nerves. I'm sure Owain has upset them enough." And Gwen hastily departed, while Mrs. Perage chuckled more than ever.
"Fiery little Welsh temper she has," murmured the old lady. "I don't envy Hench when he makes her his wife. Hum! So that's settled. Let us hope good will come of the interview." She rubbed her nose. "Gwen's a handful to manage, but by contradiction I fancy that I have secured my own way."
Of course this was quite true, although Miss Evans, walking in the park, was perfectly sure that she was acting contrary to Mrs. Perage's wishes. By this time the girl was in a fine temper, ready to quarrel with any one about anything. In fact she felt very much inclined to fight for what she considered were her rights, so far as concerned her cousin. In some queer way, Gwen arrived at the conclusion that by saving her life Hench had given her some sort of claim over him. Of course, she would never marry him; nothing would ever induce her to marry such a faithless person. But she intended to hint at her fantastic claim by ordering him to make Zara his wife. Then, on further reflection, she did not like him to marry the dancer, as she loved him herself. Still, as he was unworthy of her love, perhaps it would be as well to allow him to carry out his proposal to Madame Alpenny's daughter. He would certainly be miserable, which would serve him right, as Zara was bound to be a minx and a cat and several other disagreeable things. In this incoherent way Miss Evans thought, while working off her anger as best she could by walking at top speed up one path and down another. She did not know whether to laugh or to cry, to rage or to fret; all she did know was that everything seemed to be wrong, and that the bottom had fallen out of creation.
When Gwen again ventured into the house, she found the drawing-room tenanted by Mrs. Perage, her nephew, and two visitors. One of these was a handsome, untidily dressed young fellow, who wore his hair rather long after the manner of musicians; the other was a tall girl, gaunt, striking-looking, with something of the gipsy in her appearance. She wore a red velvet hat and a long red velvet mantle, the violent hues of which harmonized well with her somewhat sallow complexion and bold dark eyes. When Gwen entered, this girl was laughing and showed a row of very white teeth, which added to her handsome looks.
"Mademoiselle Zara, this is Miss Evans," said Mrs. Perage, rising to make a rapid introduction. "Gwen, this is Madame Alpenny's daughter, and Mr. Bracken, to whom she is engaged."