"Oh yes; nothing escapes me——"
"So it appears, and nobody," he murmured to himself.
"—A grass-widow who does that kind of thing needn't go about with her nose in the air, snubbing people she couldn't possibly get in with at home, not to speak of the disgraceful way in which she persecutes that poor silly young Isidore, who will probably get the sack owing to her, besides losing his fiancée——"
Ermengarde smiled to herself. Was the poor boy engaged, then? and how could his engagement affect the only grass-widow besides herself in the house? It certainly was well known that the latter gave the young man a good deal of unnecessary trouble, but what had that to do with this supposed engagement of his?
"Though it's true," the artless girl continued, "that she has given up wearing his flowers at dinner, just to put people off the scent, and persuades herself that nobody notices all the little walks and talks on the quiet—
Ermengarde, who had listened guilelessly, supposing these remarks to be addressed to the general public, suddenly changed colour, while another voice, that of Agatha, as suddenly struck in, "Miss Boundrish, you are positively slanderous. Such things ought not to be said, even if true, which they are not."
"Say, Miss Somers, don't you get mad," the American lady began. "I judge this young Isidore can look after himself some, whoever makes eyes at him, Miss Boundrish. There are folks must flirt, if it's only with a broomstick; they just can't help making eyes when there's any men around. I guess they don't know they're doing it all the time."
"When people are attractive," came in Lady Seaton's exact intonation, "they are often accused of trying to attract."
"Oh, attract," gurgled Miss Boundrish. "How anyone can be attracted by a nose like that—why, you might hang your hat upon it. And as for her waist——"
"Want of style," her mother suggested, "while her dress——"