“Well, I suppose it will have to do,—at least for the present.” “How ‘for the present’?” “Never mind,” said Alice, rising; “and now for another question. Is the Don, so far as you can see, falling in love with _you_?” “With _me_?” cried Mary, with genuine surprise. “What, pray, will you ask next? Whether, for example, I do not perceive that Mr. Frobisher is enamoured of me? No, you will not ask _that_. _Dear Charles_,—well, he is a nice fellow, I must admit,—and would let you do all the talking.” And she gave Alice a squeeze, as girls will do, when talking sweethearts among themselves. “Mr. Frobisher! Why are you continually harping on him? He has never said a dozen words to me. But mark my words, that Enigma is interested in you. He showed it to-day at dinner. You know, my dear, when the humor strikes you, you talk beautifully—” “I don’t compare with you, Alice.” “Never mind about me. This meeting has not been called with a view to organizing a Mutual-Admiration Society. _You_ are the subject of this little pow-wow. Now, to-day, at dinner—well, I don’t like to sit here and flatter you to your face, but I saw very plainly that the Reverend Mr.—I beg your pardon, the Don, was enraptured with your unconscious eloquence.” “_Eloquence_, Alice?” And Mary flushed with ill-concealed delight. “Yes, Little Dumpling, eloquence.” “Really?” “That’s the charm of the thing, goosey; your words flow from you so easily, that you are unconscious how lovely your language often is. Then, of course, as none of us know the sound of our own voices, you are hardly aware how low and musical your voice is.” “Alice,” said Mary, gravely, “you are making fun of me. You have never said anything like this to me before. It is not kind,—it really isn’t!” And her lips quivered. “You little goose! Not to know me any better than that! Well, to-day you became so much interested in some subject you were discussing with Mr. John Whacker that you did not observe, for some time, that every one at the table was listening to you; and then, when you discovered that you ‘had the floor,’ you blushed furiously and stopped talking.” “Yes, I remember; it made me feel so foolish!” “Well, you know, my love, I am very proud of you; and so I was looking around to see what others thought of you. I give you my word, I nearly exploded when I caught sight of the Don. There he sat, with an oyster on the end of his fork poised midway between his plate and his mouth, with his eyes riveted on you. Put this down in your book, Mary,—this,—as a maxim on love: ‘Whenever a man forgets the way to his mouth his heart’s in danger.’” “I will,” said Mary, shaking with laughter. “Yes,” continued Alice, standing before the glass and taking down her hair, “you have a streak of genius, that’s the truth; but it is not the whole truth.” “Give me the rest of it.”