“Then, you silly puss, what did you mean by saying that she could not fall in love?”
“I meant—well, I don’t know exactly. Only there is nobody going to-morrow that she is the least in love with.”
“And you? Is there to be any one you are not cruel to? Come, tell me all about them like a good child.”
Pearl tossed back her sunny head and laughed.
“As if anybody would look at me when Polly is there!”
“Nonsense! that is a matter of taste. If I were a young man I know what would be my taste,” said Mrs. Monteagle; “and I shrewdly suspect there is a certain young gentleman who is of the same opinion.” She looked steadily at Pearl as she said this, and, raising a finger, shook it at the laughing, astonished face. Pearl looked as unconscious as a baby at first, but as the finger continued its slow, significant shake she grew a little confused, then she blushed, first slightly, but the pink tint rapidly deepened to scarlet and spread all over her face and neck.
“Ha! you naughty puss. I knew I should find you out,” said Mrs. Monteagle with a mischievous laugh. “I know all about it, and, since you care for him, it is all right. I think he is a good fellow, although I confess I should have preferred your marrying an Englishman; however, since you are in love with one another, one must make the best of it.”
“Dear Mrs. Monteagle, what do you mean?” said Pearl, who had now recovered her self-possession, and was looking mystified and curious, but not the least guilty.
“I know all about it, my dear. I tell you I know more about most things than people imagine. I have been watching this little game quietly in my corner while you and M. Léon were singing and playing at your piano.”
“M. Léon? Capt. Léopold?”