“But you, Laura, will some day inspire a grand passion,—­or I daresay have already, for you are a great deal too close to tell;—­and then there will be cutting of throats, and a mighty hubbub, and a real tragedy.  I shall never go beyond genteel comedy,—­unless I run away with somebody beneath me, or do something awfully improper.”

“Don’t do that, dear.”

“I should like to, because of my aunt.  I should indeed.  If it were possible, without compromising myself, I should like her to be told some morning that I had gone off with the curate.”

“How can you be so wicked, Violet!”

“It would serve her right, and her countenance would be so awfully comic.  Mind, if it is ever to come off, I must be there to see it.  I know what she would say as well as possible.  She would turn to poor Gussy.  ‘Augusta,’ she would say, ’I always expected it.  I always did.’  Then I should come out and curtsey to her, and say so prettily, ‘Dear aunt, it was only our little joke.’  That’s my line.  But for you,—­you, if you planned it, would go off to-morrow with Lucifer himself if you liked him.”

“But failing Lucifer, I shall probably be very humdrum.”

“You don’t mean that there is anything settled, Laura?”

“There is nothing settled,—­or any beginning of anything that ever can be settled, But I am not talking about myself.  He has told me that if you will accept him, he will do anything that you and I may ask him.”

“Yes;—­he will promise.”

“Did you ever know him to break his word?”

“I know nothing about him, my dear.  How should I?”

“Do not pretend to be ignorant and meek, Violet.  You do know him,—­much better than most girls know the men they marry.  You have known him, more or less intimately, all your life.”

“But am I bound to marry him because of that accident?”

“No; you are not bound to marry him,—­unless you love him.”

“I do not love him,” said Violet, with slow, emphatic words, and a little forward motion of her face, as though she were specially eager to convince her friend that she was quite in earnest in what she said.

“I fancy, Violet, that you are nearer to loving him than any other man.”

“I am not at all near to loving any man.  I doubt whether I ever shall be.  It does not seem to me to be possible to myself to be what girls call in love.  I can like a man.  I do like, perhaps, half a dozen.  I like them so much that if I go to a house or to a party it is quite a matter of importance to me whether this man or that will or will not be there.  And then I suppose I flirt with them.  At least Augusta tells me that my aunt says that I do.  But as for caring about any one of them in the way of loving him,—­wanting to marry him, and have him all to myself, and that sort of thing,—­I don’t know what it means.”

“But you intend to be married some day,” said Lady Laura.