You might as well have tried to regulate the vagaries of a comet--as
well guess from what quarter the fickle wind would next blow.
"Women are all puzzles," said Dr. Oleander, in quiet despair to Mrs.
Walraven. "That is a truism long and tried; but, by Jove! Miss Mollie
Dane puts the toppers on the lot. I never met with such a bewildering
sprite."
"Odious, artful creature!" hissed the bride of Carl Walraven. "It is
all her crafty scheming to attract the attention of that hoary-headed
simpleton, Sir Roger Trajenna. If you are in love with her, Guy (and how
you can is a mystery to me), why don't you propose at once?"
"Because I am afraid, madame."
"Afraid!" scornfully--"afraid of a goosey girl of seventeen! I never
took you for a born idiot before, Guy Oleander."
"Thanks, my fair relative! But it is quite as disagreeable to be refused
by a 'goosey girl of seventeen' as by a young lady of seven-and-twenty.
Your age, my dear Blanche, is it not?"
"Never mind my age!" retorted Mrs. Walraven, sharply. "My age has
nothing to do with it. If you don't ask Mollie Dane to-night, Hugh
Ingelow or James Sardonyx will to-morrow, and the chances are ten to
one she accepts the first one who proposes.
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