“You are singular, Ladislaw. You look struck together. Do you know her?”
“I know that she is married to my cousin,” said Will Ladislaw, sauntering down the hall with a preoccupied air, while his German friend kept at his side and watched him eagerly.
“What! the Geistlicher ? He looks more like an uncle—a more useful sort of relation.”
“He is not my uncle. I tell you he is my second cousin,” said Ladislaw, with some irritation.
“ Schön, schön. Don’t be snappish. You are not angry with me for thinking Mrs. Second-Cousin the most perfect young Madonna I ever saw?”
“Angry? nonsense. I have only seen her once before, for a couple of minutes, when my cousin introduced her to me, just before I left England. They were not married then. I didn’t know they were coming to Rome.”
“But