"Isabella--you who are always posing for enthusiasm--when will you learn to say anything so genuine as that?" chanted Cousin Octavia's deep voice. "I mention it merely on your account, as a question of styles conversational. Here is Isabella, who thinks John Ash so dissipated, Pauline; she fears that it may injure the family connection if you marry him. I have told her that no one here was thinking of marrying or of giving in marriage; if she has such ideas, she must have brought them with her from Florence. There are a great many old maids in Florence." "I can only answer for myself: I certainly am not thinking of marriage," said Pauline, laughing, as she went down the stairs. "Oh, Cousin Octavia, you have set Pauline against me!" exclaimed Isabella, in distress. "Don't be an idiot; Pauline isn't against any one: she doesn't care enough about it. She is a good deal for herself, I acknowledge; but she's not against any one. Pauline bears no malice; she is delightfully uncertain; she hasn't a theory in the world to live up to; in addition, to have her in the house is like going to the play all the time--she _is_ such a stupendous liar!" Isabella, who was punching round holes in a linen band with an implement of ivory, stopped punching. "I am sure poor Paulie--" "Am I to sit through a defence of Pauline Euphemia Graham, born Preston, at your hands, Isabella? Pray spare me that. I am much more Pauline's friend than you ever can be. Did I say that she lied? Nature has given her a face that speaks one language and a mind that speaks another; she, of course, follows the language of her mind; but others follow that of her face, and this makes the play. Eh!--what noise is that?" "We have come to pay you a visit, Aunt Octavia," called a boyish voice; its owner was evidently mounting the stairs three at a time: now he was in the room. "They're all down at the door--Freemantle and Gates and Beckett. And what do you think--we've got Griff!" "Griff himself?" said Aunt Octavia, benevolently, as the lad, with a very pretty gallantry, bent to kiss her hand. "Yes, Griff himself; you may be sure we're drawing like mad. Griff has come down from Paris for only three weeks, and he says he will go with us to Paestum, and all about here--to Amalfi, Ravello, and everywhere. But of course Paestum's the stunner." "Yes, of course Paestum's the stunner," repeated Aunt Octavia, as if trying it in Shakespearian tones. "I say, may they come up?" Arthur went on.