"
"What in--Siebel?"
"I don't know. But I saw large bills out with her name. She made her
_de'but_ in Gounod's 'Faust.'"
"It is _my_ Siebel!" cried Zoe, rapturously. "Why, aunt, no wonder
Harrington admires her. For my part, I adore her."
_"You,_ child! That is quite a different matter."
"No, it is not. He is like me; he has only seen her once, as I have, and
on the stage."
"Fiddle-dee-dee. I tell you he is in love with her, over head and ears.
He is wonderfully inflammable for a woman-hater. Ask Mr. Severne: he
knows."
"Mr. Severne, is my brother in love with that lady?"
Severne's turn had come; that able young man saw his chance, and did as
good a bit of acting as ever was extemporized even by an Italian mime.
"Miss Vizard," said he, fixing his hazel eyes on her for the first time,
in a way that made her feel his power, "what passed in confidence between
two friends ought to be sacred. Don't--you--think so?" (The girl
quivered, remembering the secret he had confessed to her.) "Miss Maitland
has done your brother and me the honor to listen to our secrets. She
shall repeat them, if she thinks it delicate; but I shall not, without
Vizard's consent; and, more than that, the conversation seems to me to be
taking the turn of casting blame and ridicule and I don't know what on
the best-hearted, kindest-hearted, truest-hearted, noblest, and manliest
man I know.
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