“No; it will never pass!” answered Ethel. “It is true all his impressions were personified in Yvonne; but she shows such sterling qualities that she has no need to personify anything to be loved.”
“You must tell me everything, Ethel,” said grandma.
“This is the way it happened. Of course, it was impossible for Will to speak alone with Yvonne, especially on such subjects. Besides, he never had the opportunity; and then—it isn’t done! In France, when a young man sees a young girl that pleases him, he asks her parents for her; and her parents accept or refuse.”
“How dreadful!” said grandma.
“Will,” Ethel kept on, “was speaking about it one day to Mme. Riçois.”
“Mme. Riçois? What has she got to do with it?”
“Why, everything, grandma; everything! If it had not been for Mme. Riçois we should have gone off to Morgania without anything being decided. Will passed his young days between our mines in Montana and the Chicago Stock Exchange, and never had time to be in love. Mme. Riçois opened his eyes. I ought to tell you that she is the most inveterate marrier of the town.”
“A marrier? I thought she was a banker’s wife!”
“Oh, she has to do something,” replied Ethel. “Mme. Riçois makes matches to please herself. The little woman delights in it. I can imagine her embroidering on her sleeve, like an officer’s stripes, the number of marriages she has brought about.”
“How dreadful!” said grandma.