"It would take something more substantial than that to make Bee follow anybody off," observed Bee's brother-in-law.
"Well, and so she and he were together all that evening, and afterward they corresponded. But Cary, being my bridesmaid, had, of course, the first claim on Artie's attention, but he was so taken with Flora that he sort of neglected Cary. Then, Cary being so spoiled by being rich and courted and flattered, was piqued into trying to make him notice her, which old stupid Artie refused to do, but tagged around after Flora as if she had hypnotized him. Then Cary must have been quite roused, for the first thing I knew she was showing unmistakable signs of its being the real thing with her, though, of course, she would deny it with oaths if I taxed her, while Flora—"
I stopped in sudden confusion.
"I forget," I faltered. "I said that neither had confided in me, but—"
Aubrey grinned.
"But Flora has," he supplemented. "She has confessed her love, not blushingly, but tumultuously, brazenly, tempestuously, and has begged you to help her!"
I paused aghast. Aubrey had exactly stated the case.
"Well, she told Cary, too," I said, in self-extenuation, "so she can't care very much that I've told you."
"Oh, no," said Aubrey, cheerfully. "She'll tell me herself the first chance she gets."
"She told Cary that she had told me, so we felt at liberty to talk it over," I added.