"My child, my little fair one, you excite me much. Oh, I shall suffer presently! But now your enthusiasm carries that of Lucilla Carnegie along with you. Yes, they ought to be married."
"Mrs. Carnegie, they must be married. I'm determined, and so is Philip, and so is Mr. Spens. Won't you be determined too?"
"Yes, my child. But, oh, what shall I not lose in my Frances? Forgive one tear for myself—my little rose in June."
"You needn't fret for yourself at all. You'll be ever so happy when you've done a noble thing. Now listen. This is our little plot—only first of all promise, promise most faithfully, that you won't say a word to Frances."
"I promise, my child. How intensely you arouse my curiosity! Really I begin to live."
"You won't give Frances a hint?"
"No, no, you may trust me, little bright one."
"Well, I do trust you. I know you won't spoil all our plans. You'll share them and help us. Oh, what a happy woman you'll be by and by! Now listen."
Then Fluff seated herself close to Mrs. Carnegie, and began to whisper an elaborately got-up scheme into that lady's ear, to all of which she listened with glowing eyes, her hands clasping Fluff's, her attention riveted on the sweet and eager face.
"It's my plot," concluded the narrator. "Philip doesn't much like it—not some of it—but I say that I will only help him in my own way."