“One of her lovers,” thought Ray, with a curling lip.
“Guess what the little boy, who drove us over, told us about you, Pet?” said Erminie, laughing.
“What? Nothing naughty, I hope.”
“Well, I don’t know; that’s as it may be. Shall I tell you what he said?”
“Of course; I like to hear what people say about me.”
“Well, then, he said you were going to be married.”
“Not possible! What an astounding revelation! Did you think I was going to be an old maid?”
“Then it is true? Is it any harm to ask who the happy man is, Pet?”
“Well, I haven’t quite decided yet. I have some four or five on trial, and I generally put them through a severe course of martyrdom every day. The one who survives it (not more than one can possibly survive it) I shall probably make miserable for life, by bestowing upon him my hand—and heart, I was going to say, only, fortunately, they forgot to give me one when I was made.”
Erminie laughed, and then the conversation became general, and two hours imperceptibly slipped away. Ray having wrought himself up to the belief that Miss Lawless was a heartless flirt, worthy of no higher feeling than contempt, he, in order to resist the dark witchery of her magnetic eyes, wrapped himself up in his very coldest mantle of pride, and addressed just as little of his conversation to her as he possibly could, without being positively rude. Pet, as proud in her own way as himself, noticed this at once, and her cheeks flushed, and her eyes flashed, for a moment, with anger and pride. Then these signs of emotion passed away, and she grew her own cold, careless self again, talking away recklessly, and laughing contemptuously at all sentiment, until Ray was more then ever convinced that the world had spoiled her, and that she was as arrant a coquette as ever made a fool of a sensible man.