“I am not afraid of servants,” replied Ursula, disappearing through the door.
“Again!” said the Baroness. “He comes here constantly, and at all hours. It is not yet half-past nine. Louisa, when he marries Ursula, we can go and live on the farm. Ce sera le comble.”
“I tell you,” replied Louisa, coolly, “that Gerard is going to marry Ursula, and then all will come right.”
“And I tell you,” echoed the Dowager, with an old woman’s insistence, “that Gerard is going to marry Helena, sooner or later. I have always known it.”
“Helena? Helena? Why, she’s married already. Really, Cécile, I believe you are going crazy?”
“I know, I know,” replied the Dowager, in great confusion. “But her husband might die. Otto died.”
“Pooh!” said Tante Louisa, departing.
The Dowager also beat a hurried retreat. She sat down in her boudoir, and gathered poor grumpy rheumatic old Plush on to her lap.
“They’ll find me out,” she reflected. “If only I could hold on till Gerard comes.” And her chin shook.