The guardian angels were Sir Richard Walwyn and Sabrina Powell; his friendship, and her sisterly solicitude standing the younger lovers in stead.
“Why has your sister not danced with Captain Trevor—I mean my Captain Trevor?” queried the soldier knight of his betrothed. “I haven’t seen him near her all the night. Has there come a coolness between them, think you?”
“Something of the sort, I fear.”
“But from what cause? Have you any idea?”
“Oh! the cause is clear enough! though she hasn’t made me her confidante.”
“The Creole cousin?”
“Just so.”
“But Vaga has nothing to fear from her; nor need being jealous, in the least.”
“Why do you say so, Richard?”
“Because Trevor don’t care a straw for Mademoiselle Lalande.”