“I dare say! Had he chosen to deck himself with an ass’s head, Titania would have found him so.”
“Poor Charles! That I should live to hear him likened to Bottom, the weaver. But I ought to know better than to expect you to appreciate him; you, who waste your love upon books and music, and —”
“Saucy girls like yourself, Kate. But when you begin to wander over your ‘Carte du pays tendre,’ pray don’t expect me to keep you company, for I have never explored it. I will acknowledge, at the same time, that Charles is handsome—nay, the handsomest man of my acquaintance.”
“Ah, you will!” said Catharine, with a bright smile. “Then I forgive you, but I predict that the day will come, when you will be punished for despising this ‘Carte du pays tendre,’ for mark me, Ada! yours is the very nature for une grande passion, and when you love—angels and ministers of grace defend me!—it will be Ætna poured into Vesuvius.”
Ada laughed heartily, and a very sweet laugh was hers—low and musical, as the chime of fairy bells.
“Pray, Kate,” asked she, “when did the mantle of divination fall upon those pretty shoulders?”
“Oh, I became wise like Cassandra. Love has made me a prophetess.”
“And like Cassandra, a prophetess whom nobody heeds.”
“Right, Ada,” exclaimed Catharine, exultingly, “and to complete the resemblance, a true prophetess, notwithstanding.”
“You are clever at repartee, my Kate, but you have mistaken your vocation. If at the mature age of twenty-three I have never loved —”