“Not to give your consent, you may be sure,” retorted Miss Mopius, snappishly. “When Otto comes to-night, as he certainly will, I want you, during ten minutes, to draw off your father. The poor fellow never gets a chance. He said as much yesterday, in departing. ‘The Dominé and I have so much to say to each other,’ he remarked, ‘that I never seem to have an opportunity of chatting with you, Miss Mopius.’ And with that he gave me a look. Ursula, I believe you take me for a fool. Do you?”
“Oh no, dear aunt,” exclaimed Ursula, hastily.
“One would say so, if you imagine I suck these things out of my thumb.[H] I assure you I have very good reason to know what I know. I am not a chit, like you, to fancy a man is in love because he looks at me.”
“There, there, go away,” she added. “The whole thing has greatly exhausted me. I am not strong; that is the worst. But so I shall honestly tell him.”
“You will accept him,” cried Ursula, preparing to vanish.
“That will depend upon various considerations,” replied Miss Mopius. “What is it, Drika? Ursula, hold your tongue, and let the servant pass.”
Ursula turned hastily in the open doorway.
“The Jonker Otto is in the drawing-room,” said the red-cheeked maid.
Miss Mopius turned pale, then red. “Go to him, child,” she said, pleadingly. “Amuse him till I come. And remember—”