Mary looked at her worriedly. “But, Juliana, you did love him — you do still!”
“I?” Miss Marling gave a scornful laugh. “Lord, how solemn you are, my dear! I thought it would be famous good fun to let him think I’d elope with him, but if you must know, I never meant to marry him at all.” She shot a quick look at Miss Challoner’s grave face. “I shall marry Bertrand de Saint-Vire,” she said, to clinch the matter.
This announcement startled Miss Challoner almost as much as it would have startled the Vicomte, had he been privileged to hear it. She said: “How can yon talk so, Juliana? I don’t believe you!”
Miss Marling laughed again. “Don’t you, my dear? I make no doubt you think me monstrous heartless. Oh, yes, I can see you do! Well, we don’t have hearts in our family, as you’ll discover, I fear.”
“You need not fear for me,” said Mary calmly. “I am not going to marry Lord Vidal, I assure you.”
“You don’t know my cousin,” replied Juliana. “He means to wed you, and he will — in Uncle Justin’s teeth, too! Lord, I would give a guinea to see my uncle’s face when he hears! Not that it would tell me much,” she added pensively. She clasped her hands round her knees. “You’ve not yet met his grace, Mary. When you do — ” she paused. “I can’t advise you. I am for ever making up my mind just what I shall say to him, and then when the time comes I am not able to.”
Miss Challoner ignored this. “Juliana, be frank with me: have you quarrelled with Mr. Comyn?”
“Lord, yes, a dozen times, and I thank heaven this is the last!”
“You will be sorry in the morning, my dear.”
“It don’t signify in the least. My mamma would never permit me to marry him, and though it is very good sport to plan an elopement it would be amazingly horrid to be really married to someone quite outside one’s own world.”