"Then poor Lorry, with his chummy slang and abounding good conceit with himself and all the world,—excepting this Mr. Raymond, I take it,—compares but indifferently with the smooth-spoken Rupert?"
"Lorry! He's a man! He's worth a million Fosdykes!"
Ingersoll, well pleased, adopted the sound policy of leaving well enough alone. "Still, you have given me no specific reason for your dislike of Fosdyke," he persisted.
"You read my mind too plainly, Dad," she protested, smiling vexedly. "I didn't mean to tell you, hoping matters would adjust themselves; as, indeed, they may do now, if these invaders withdraw. But Madeleine has quite lost her head over him."
"Madeleine Demoret!" Ingersoll was evidently amazed, as well he might be, seeing that Breton maids are less approachable by strangers than the girls of almost any other nationality.
"Yes, and the worst thing is that I am to blame."
"But how can that be possible?"
"Mr. Fosdyke arrived here last Saturday, and of course I was introduced to him as Mrs. Carmac's niece. The necessity for any such pretense is rather hateful, and he did not render it more acceptable by claiming me as a cousin. Really, Dad, with the slightest encouragement on my part, he would have kissed me!"
"Shocking!" said Ingersoll.
"Father dear, don't make fun of me. His cousinly kiss would have burnt my cheek."