“In your place, Magdalen, I should have thought twice before I mimicked my sister to an audience of strangers.”
“That’s exactly why I did it—an audience of strangers. How were they to know? Come! come! don’t be angry. You are eight years older than I am—you ought to set me an example of good-humor.”
“I will set you an example of plain-speaking. I am more sorry than I can say, Magdalen, to meet you as I met you here just now!”
“What next, I wonder? You meet me in the shrubbery at home, talking over the private theatricals with my old playfellow, whom I knew when I was no taller than this parasol. And that is a glaring impropriety, is it? ‘Honi soit qui mal y pense.’ You wanted an answer a minute ago—there it is for you, my dear, in the choicest Norman-French.”
“I am in earnest about this, Magdalen—”
“Not a doubt of it. Nobody can accuse you of ever making jokes.”
“I am seriously sorry—”
“Oh, dear!”
“It is quite useless to interrupt me. I have it on my conscience to tell you—and I will tell you—that I am sorry to see how this intimacy is growing. I am sorry to see a secret understanding established already between you and Mr. Francis Clare.”
“Poor Frank! How you do hate him, to be sure. What on earth has he done to offend you?”