“Felix will make her a good husband,” said Eugenia.  “He will be a charming companion; he has a great quality—­indestructible gayety.”

“You think that ’s a great quality?” asked the old man.

Eugenia meditated, with her eyes upon his.  “You think one gets tired of it, eh?”

“I don’t know that I am prepared to say that,” said Mr. Wentworth.

“Well, we will say, then, that it is tiresome for others but delightful for one’s self.  A woman’s husband, you know, is supposed to be her second self; so that, for Felix and Gertrude, gayety will be a common property.”

“Gertrude was always very gay,” said Mr. Wentworth.  He was trying to follow this argument.

Robert Acton took his hands out of his pockets and came a little nearer to the Baroness.  “You say you gain by being known,” he said.  “One certainly gains by knowing you.”

“What have you gained?” asked Eugenia.

“An immense amount of wisdom.”

“That ’s a questionable advantage for a man who was already so wise!”

Acton shook his head.  “No, I was a great fool before I knew you!”

“And being a fool you made my acquaintance?  You are very complimentary.”

“Let me keep it up,” said Acton, laughing.  “I hope, for our pleasure, that your brother’s marriage will detain you.”

“Why should I stop for my brother’s marriage when I would not stop for my own?” asked the Baroness.

“Why should n’t you stop in either case, now that, as you say, you have dissolved that mechanical tie that bound you to Europe?”

The Baroness looked at him a moment.  “As I say?  You look as if you doubted it.”

“Ah,” said Acton, returning her glance, “that is a remnant of my old folly!  We have other attractions,” he added.  “We are to have another marriage.”

But she seemed not to hear him; she was looking at him still.  “My word was never doubted before,” she said.

“We are to have another marriage,” Acton repeated, smiling.

Then she appeared to understand.  “Another marriage?” And she looked at the others.  Felix was chattering to Gertrude; Charlotte, at a distance, was watching them; and Mr. Brand, in quite another quarter, was turning his back to them, and, with his hands under his coat-tails and his large head on one side, was looking at the small, tender crescent of a young moon.  “It ought to be Mr. Brand and Charlotte,” said Eugenia, “but it does n’t look like it.”

“There,” Acton answered, “you must judge just now by contraries.  There is more than there looks to be.  I expect that combination one of these days; but that is not what I meant.”

“Well,” said the Baroness, “I never guess my own lovers; so I can’t guess other people’s.”

Acton gave a loud laugh, and he was about to add a rejoinder when Mr. Wentworth approached his niece.  “You will be interested to hear,” the old man said, with a momentary aspiration toward jocosity, “of another matrimonial venture in our little circle.”