"Of course," said Marian, secretly thinking that the satisfaction of
shaking his self-possession was cheap at five hundred pounds. "I keep
house at home, and do all sorts of business things."

Conolly glanced about him vaguely; picked up the piece of waste again as
if he had been looking for that; recollected himself; and looked
unintelligibly at her. Her uncertainty as to what he would do next was a
delightful sensation: why, she did not know nor care. To her intense
disappointment, Lord Carbury entered just then, and roused her from what
was unaccountably like a happy dream.

Nothing more of any importance happened that day except the arrival of a
letter from Paris, addressed to Lady Constance in Marmaduke's
handwriting. Miss McQuinch first heard of it in the fruit garden, where
she found Constance sitting with her arm around Marian's waist in a
summer-house. She sat down opposite them, at a rough oak table.

"A letter, Nelly!" said Marian. "A letter! A letter from Marmaduke! I
have extorted leave for you to read it. Here it is. Handle it carefully,
pray."

"Has he proposed?" said Elinor, taking it.

Constance changed color. Elinor opened the letter in silence, and read:

My dear Constance:

I hope you are quite well. I am having an awfully jolly time of it
here. What a pity it is you dont come over! I was wishing for you
yesterday in the Louvre, where we spent a pleasant day looking at