“I mean,” she went on, “that I don’t think Evangeline ought to be encouraged to act hastily. I like Mr. Varens so much better than Evan Hatton. He will probably come into his father’s place very soon.”
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Cyril, really startled at last. “Has Varens asked her after dining here once? What in heaven’s name possesses the poor devils! But I oughtn’t to talk I suppose.”
“Don’t be so absurd, Cyril. I never said he had proposed to her. I only meant that she hadn’t had time to consider him.”
“What do you mean, ‘consider him?’”
“I merely took Mr. Varens as an instance. I don’t want her to be pushed into liking Evan Hatton just because she hasn’t had time to think of any other. Ill-considered marriages are often so regrettable.”
“If I were a woman,” said Cyril, “I should say that I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the things you say. Unlace me, Emmeline, and give me some more tea—have you got any?” He passed his cup.
“But do you see what I mean, Cyril?” she persisted.
“Oh, I see all right,” he replied. “My eye wants shading if anything; it’s positively dazzling, the light that you throw on matters of the heart. It’s a pity you never met Darwin. He wrote on natural selection, but I’m not sure that he mastered the subject. You might——” He stopped as the door opened and Evangeline came in with Captain Hatton.
Evan glanced at his general, who was peacefully sunk in an armchair, playing with the cat. Tricot, the poodle, followed into the room and walked about shaking himself restlessly as if he missed something.
“That’s all right, old Tricot,” said Cyril. “Come here and talk to Pussy; she’s your friend.”