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"Who was the damsel I saw you making up to in the Park the other day?" Paliser turned to her. "I have forgotten." "I don't wonder. You seemed to have lost your head." "Probably then because it wasn't you." "Fiddlesticks! You looked as though you could cut your throat for her. Didn't you feel that way? I am sure you did." "You must be thinking of Cantillon. That's the way he looks at you.
Austen, with that smile, continued. "Oh!" she interrupted herself to remark. "You have not congratulated Mr. Cantillon. Has no little bird told you? It's this dear child Kate. Just now don't you think? engagements, like lilacs, are in the air." She turned to Verelst. "Grey deceiver!" Verelst crooked his arm. "However much I tried to deceive, I got grey before I could." "What are you laughing at?"
With him was Harry Cantillon, who, the night before, had danced away with Kate Schermerhorn. Straddling an arm of Cantillon's chair was Fred Ogston, a young man of a type that, even before the war, was vanishing and which was known as about town. Adjacently sat Peter Verelst. Servants brought little decanters and removed others.
As she spoke, she threw a glance at Cantillon. Poppet Bleecker also approached. "It is too bad, Margaret is such a dear! I would like to stop on but they tell me my maid is here. Thank you so much, dear Mrs. Austen." The lady stood up. "But you are not all going!" They all were though. She knew it and was glad of it.
Mr Cantillon seems, upon this account, to suppose that the lowest species of common labourers must everywhere earn at least double their own maintenance, in order that, one with another, they may be enabled to bring up two children; the labour of the wife, on account of her necessary attendance on the children, being supposed no more than sufficient to provide for herself: But one half the children born, it is computed, die before the age of manhood.
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