“I should have made old Magnus marry her.”
“Indeed, my lord bashaw! And suppose the lady did not approve?”
“But she would approve. No really sensible girl would refuse Magnus, if she came to thoroughly know him.”
There was silence here, during which a very-pale gentleman with a very large aquiline nose, which seemed to be his feature, the rest of his face merely representing base or pedestal, threw his long black hair behind his ears, and recited a portion of one of Rosetti’s poems.
“Harry,” said Cynthia then, “go and see Julie now.”
“Must I?”
“Please. Poor girl, she is so unhappy; I’m in great trouble about her.”
“Poor darling!” he replied.
“You know I told you about our being out in the woods collecting flowers?”
“Yes.”