“For having overheard the closing of a conversation between you and your cousin.”
She stood without making rejoinder, as if recalling what had been said.
“It was quite unintentional, I assure you,” added the intruder. “I should have disclosed myself sooner, but I—I can scarce tell what hindered me. The truth is, I—”
“Oh?” interrupted she, as if to relieve him from his evident embarrassment, “it doesn’t in the least signify. Frank was talking some nonsense—that’s all.”
“I’m glad you’re not angry with me. Though I’ve reason to be ashamed of my conduct, I must be candid and tell you, that I scarce deem it a misfortune having overheard you. It is so pleasant to listen to one’s own praises.”
“But who was praising you?”
The question was asked with an air of naïveté that might have been mistaken for coquetry.
Perhaps she had forgotten what she had said.
“Not your cousin,” replied Maynard, with a smile—“he who thinks me old enough to be your grandfather.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Miss Vernon. “You mustn’t mind what Frank says. He’s always offending somebody.”