Mrs. Gracedew showed on this such a revival of interest as fairly amounted to yearning. “Why, what times you have! You,” she nevertheless promptly decreed, “must take the fresh lot—since the house is now practically yours!”
Poor Cora looked blank. “Mine?”
Her companion matched her stare. “Why, if you’re going to marry Captain Yule.”
Cora coloured, in a flash, to the eyes. “I’m not going to marry Captain Yule!”
Her friend as quickly paled again. “Why on earth then did you tell me only ten minutes ago that you were?”
Cora could only look bewildered at the charge. “I told you nothing of the sort. I only told you”—she was almost indignantly positive—“that he had been ordered me!”
It sent Mrs. Gracedew off; she moved away to indulge an emotion that presently put on the form of extravagant mirth. “Like a dose of medicine or a course of baths?”
The girl’s gravity and lucidity sustained themselves. “As a remedy for the single life.” Oh, she had mastered the matter now! “But I won’t take him!”
“Ah, then, why didn’t you let me know?” Mrs. Gracedew panted.
“I was on the very point of it when he came in and interrupted us.” Cora clearly felt she might be wicked, but was at least not stupid. “It’s just to let you know that I’m here now.”