"Jealous of her!"
The bright colour faded out of Mary Marchmont's face, and left her ashy pale.
"Do you like her, then?" she asked.
But Mr. Arundel was not such a coxcomb as to catch at the secret so naïvely betrayed in that breathless question.
"No, Polly," he said, laughing; "she's my cousin, you know, and I've known her all my life; and cousins are like sisters. One likes to tease and aggravate them, and all that; but one doesn't fall in love with them. But I think I could mention somebody who thinks a great deal of Olivia."
"Who?"
"Your papa."
Mary looked at the young soldier in utter bewilderment.
"Papa!" she echoed.
"Yes, Polly. How would you like a stepmamma? How would you like your papa to marry again?"