“Let it be who it will, Cornelia, you will be sure to grumble. Were I to say that it was a royal princess, or a peasant’s daughter, you would equally see grounds for finding fault.”
“Of course I should. I know who it is—that stuck-up Louisa Dobede.”
“No, it is not. I never had the slightest intention of choosing Louisa Dobede, nor she of choosing me. I am marrying to please myself, and, for a wife, Louisa Dobede would not please me.”
“As you did before,” sarcastically put in Miss Corny.
“Yes; as I did before.”
“Well, can’t you open your mouth and say who it is?” was the exasperated rejoinder.
“It is Barbara Hare.”
“Who?” shrieked Miss Carlyle.
“You are not deaf, Cornelia.”
“Well, you are an idiot!” she exclaimed, lifting up her hands and eyes.