"Well, he had no eyes for anyone but you in the church this morning.
A mole could have seen that in the dark. He was preaching AT us and
FOR you all the while!"
A slight flush swept over Maryllia's cheeks,—then she laughed.
"My dear Eva! I never thought you were imaginative! The parson has nothing whatever to do with me,—why, this is the first Sunday I have ever been to his church,—you know I never go to church."
Lady Beaulyon looked at her narrowly, unconvinced.
"What have you left your aunt for?" she asked.
"Simply because she wants me to marry Roxmouth, and I won't!" said
Maryllia, emphatically.
"Why not?"
"First, because I don't love him,—second, because he has slandered me by telling people that I am running after his title, to excuse himself for running after Aunt Emily's millions; and lastly, but by no means leastly, because he is—unclean."
"All men are;" said Eva Beaulyon, drily—"It's no use objecting to that!"
Maryllia made no remark. She was standing before her dressing-table, singing softly to herself, while she dexterously fastened a tiny diamond arrow in her hair.