‘Why not about a strange man?’ asked Celia, with her philosophical air. ‘Why should the perfections of a strange man be a forbidden subject? One may rave about a landscape; one may be as enthusiastic as one likes about the stars or the moon, the sea, or a sunset, or even the last popular novel? Why must not one admire a man? I am not going to put a padlock upon my lips to flatter such an absurd prejudice. As for you, Laura, it is all very well to sit there stitching at that faded blackberry leaf--you are putting too much brown in it, I am sure--and looking the image of all that is demure. To my mind you are more to be envied than any girl I ever heard of, except the Sleeping Beauty in the Wood.’ ‘Why should I be envied?’ ‘Because you are to have a splendid fortune and John Treverton for your husband.’ ‘Celia, I shall be so grateful to you if you will be quite silent on that subject, supposing that you can be silent about anything.’ ‘I can’t,’ said Celia frankly. ‘It is by no means certain that I shall marry Mr. Treverton.’ ‘Would you be so utterly idiotic as to refuse him?’ ‘I would not accept him unless I could believe that he really liked me--better than any other woman he had ever seen.’ ‘And of course he will; of course he does,’ cried Celia. ‘You know, as a matter of personal inclination, I would much rather you should marry poor Edward, who adores the ground you walk upon, and, of course, adores you much more than the ground. But there is a limpness about Ted’s character which makes me fear that he will never get on in the world. He is a clever young man, and he thinks that he has nothing to do but go on being clever, and write verses for the magazines--which even I, as his sister, must confess are the weakest dilution of Swinburne--and that Fame will come and take him by the hand, and lead him up the steps of her temple, while Fortune will meet him in the portico with a big bag of gold. No, Laura, dearly as I love Ted, I should be sorry to see you sacrifice a splendid fortune, and refuse such a man as John Treverton.’ ‘There will be time enough to debate the question when Mr. Treverton asks me to marry him,’ said Laura gravely. ‘Oh, that will come upon you all in a moment,’ retorted Celia, ‘when you won’t have me to help you. You had better make up your mind beforehand.’ ‘I should despise Mr. Treverton if he were to make me an offer before he knew a great deal more of me than he does now. But I forbid you to talk any more of this, Celia. And now we had better go and walk in the orchard for half-an-hour, or you will never be able to digest all the cake you have eaten.’ ‘What a pity digestion should be so difficult, when eating is so easy,’ said Celia. And then she went dancing along the garden paths with the airy lightness of a nymph who had never known the meaning of indigestion.