“I should like to see him dare.”
“Yes,” said Claude quietly; “I suppose that is what most girls would like.”
“Don’t, Claude dearest; pray don’t. My sedate and lovely cousin trying to make jokes. Oh! this is too delicious. But it won’t do, Claudie; it is not in your way at all. I am a natural, born female jester—a sort of Josephine Miller; but—you! oh, it is too ridiculous.”
“Now, tell me seriously, what does this mean?” said Claude, taking the girl’s hands.
“What I told you, darling. Big, clever, serious Mr Trevithick, the learned lawyer, is in love—with me.”
“Mary, you must be serious now. But how do you know?”
“How do I know?” cried Mary, with a curl of the lip. “How does a woman know when a man loves her?”
“By his telling her so, I suppose; and you say Mr Trevithick has not told you.”
“Didn’t you know Chris Lisle loved you before he dared to tell—I mean, to give you instructions in the art of catching salmon?”
Claude was silent.