"Why, of course!" and she led the way to that sanctuary of religion and the fine arts, defiled only in one corner by account-books, business letters, and bills of fare.
"I want to ask you a straightforward question," began Grace, plunging boldly into the subject uppermost in her thoughts, without circumlocution. "Is Miss Planter a coquette? Is she trifling with my brother, or do you think she cares the least about him?"
Mrs. Courtly smiled one of her sweet enigmatical smiles.
"My dear Miss Ballinger, is Sir Mordaunt trifling with Clare?"
Grace colored.
"You are quite justified in returning my question. I do not believe he is. If they are thrown much more together, I believe he will be rendered very unhappy should it prove that she cares nothing about him."
"He tells me he must go to New York by the night mail on Thursday."
"Yes, but we are going west after that, and so are the Planters. If I had an inkling of the girl's real character, I might either help him or save him a great deal of pain."
"Clare Planter is a curious girl—in fact, she is an American product, and not like any English girl. It is impossible to tell what she will do. Even her own mother does not know. I know she would be quite in your brother's favor, but that would have no weight with Clare, any more than opposition would have. She will probably take a long time to make up her mind as to the man she wishes to marry, but when it is once made up nothing will change her."
"I like that. I could not wish a better answer to my question. So then," she added, laughing, "this desperate flirtation is based, on her part, upon the profoundest principles, and a sense of the importance of knowing a man well before you consent to marry him? Well, I can't disapprove of that—only the man, you see, may suffer in the process."