“Was he tryin’ to wheedle you into marryin’ him?” asked Jane.
“He wished me to change my decision.”
“I’m glad you’ve given him the bounce,” said Jane, whose expressions were not always refined. “I wouldn’t marry him myself.”
Florence smiled. Jane was red haired, and her nose was what is euphemistically called retroussé. Even in her own circles she was not regarded as beautiful, and was hardly likely to lead a rich man to overlook her humble station, and sue for her hand.
“Then, Jane, you at least will not blame me for refusing my cousin’s hand?”
“That I won’t, miss. Do you know, Miss Florence”—and here Jane lowered her voice—“I’ve a suspicion that Mr. Curtis is married already?”
“What do you mean, Jane?” asked Florence, startled.
“There was a poor young woman called here last month and inquired for Mr. Curtis. She was very sorrowful-like, and poorly dressed. He came up when she was at the door, and he spoke harshlike, and told her to walk away with him. What they said I couldn’t hear, but I’ve a suspicion that she was married to him, secretlike for I saw a wedding ring upon her finger.”
“But, Jane, it would be base and infamous for him to ask for my hand when he was already married.”
“I can’t help it, miss. That’s just what he wouldn’t mind doin’. Oh, he’s a sly deceiver, Mr. Curtis. I’d like to see him foolin’ around me.”