Dorothea had had no easy part to play. She found herself very much in request with both brothers: with Mervyn plainly for her own sake; with Edred as plainly for Dolly's sake. Edred liked to get Dorothea alone, and to hear her talk about Dolly; only nobody except Dorothea was aware of this explanation. She was very willing to talk to him of Dolly, and she was very anxious to do her duty to Dolly in keeping Mervyn at arm's length. But the latter task was by no means easy; partly because she was doing violence to her own inclinations—partly because Mervyn was of a nature not to be easily checked.
Matters had developed fast in these few days. When Dorothea first came to Craye, she liked Mervyn, and she knew that she could like him very much more. The potential had now become the positive. Dorothea not only liked him very much more, but she felt that for her, he stood alone as the man who was unlike all other men. This means something far beyond mere liking; yet for Dolly's sake Dorothea strove hard to hide what she felt, to treat him as a mere acquaintance.
Perhaps she was less successful in veiling her true feelings than she imagined. Perhaps Mervyn had a keener insight into woman's nature than Edred. The more Dorothea endeavoured to hold aloof, the more persistently he came after her. Both young men were constantly in and out of the house all through that week, and both appeared to come mainly for the purpose of talking to Dorothea. There was no appearance of jealousy between them; perhaps because the sunny-tempered Mervyn was not given to jealousy, perhaps because Edred felt too secure. So, at least, people conjectured. It might easily be thought by a looker-on that she gave encouragement to Edred. She was more at her ease with him than with Mervyn.
And poor little Dolly all this while was hors de combat, unable to fight her own battle. It did seem hard to the elder sisters; both of whom had now a pretty clear understanding of the state of Dolly's mind, and neither of whom supposed Dorothea to be fighting Dolly's battle for her—only through ignorance fighting it wrongly. Isabel and Margot had seen with pleasure Mervyn's evident fancy for Dorothea; and they would have been equally pleased to see the "fancy" returned. Attentions from Edred were another matter, and that his attentions should be apparently well received, while those of Mervyn were more or less rebuffed, exercised the sisters greatly.
"I think it is too bad—quite too bad!—and I wish they had never come to Woodlands at all," Isabel declared hotly.
Margot could have echoed the wish. "But that is hardly fair," she said. "Edred might never have cared for Dolly in any case,—and I am sure Dorothea does not know how things are."
"Then she ought to know! People ought to use their eyes," said unreasonable Isabel.
"Some people haven't the gift," remarked Margot, thinking how slow Isabel herself had been.
"Why shouldn't one give her a hint, Margot? I'll do it."
Margot shook her head. She had a great dread of interfering in such matters. Simple blundering Isabel, who had done damage before by her outspokenness, pondered the matter for a whole half-hour, and came to the conclusion that this was a case for open speech. People like Isabel who meddle in everything, do harm nine times out of ten; but the tenth time they occasionally manage to set wrong right, thereby gaining encouragement to proceed in the same course. The nine times are forgotten—the one is remembered.