My lady hesitated over the word “lover,” and changed it, for to her Octavia still seemed a child, and though anxious for the alliance, she forbore to speak openly, lest the girl should turn willful, as she inherited her mother's high spirit.
“I'm sorry, Mamma. But how can I help it, when he teases me so that I detest him?” said Octavia, petulantly.
“How tease, my love?”
“Why, he follows me about like a dog, puts on a sentimental look when I appear; blushes, and beams, and bows at everything I say, if I am polite; frowns and sighs if I'm not; and glowers tragically at every man I speak to, even poor Maurice. Oh, Mamma, what foolish creatures men are!” And the girl laughed blithely, as she looked up for the first time into her mother's face.
My lady smiled, as she stroked the bright head at her knee, but asked quickly, “Why say 'even poor Maurice,' as if it were impossible for anyone to be jealous of him?”
“But isn't it, Mamma? I thought strong, well men regarded him as one set apart and done with, since his sad misfortune.”
“Not entirely; while women pity and pet the poor fellow, his comrades will be jealous, absurd as it is.”
“No one pets him but me, and I have a right to do it, for he is my cousin,” said the girl, feeling a touch of jealousy herself.
“Rose and Blanche Talbot outdo you, my dear, and there is no cousinship to excuse them.”
“Then let Frank Annon be jealous of them, and leave me in peace. They promised to come today; I'm afraid something has happened to prevent them.” And Octavia gladly seized upon the new subject. But my lady was not to be eluded.