"Poor Harry!" Hermione observed, in her elder-sisterly tone. "He was always so fond of my dear grandfather."
"Do you think Harvey will keep up things as he did?" faltered Marjory.
"I hope so, indeed. I shall use all my influence, Marjory, and if Harvey did not, I should think it right to speak to him plainly."
Hermione, the girl of nineteen, might speak, but would Harvey, the man past thirty, listen? Marjory, with all her devotion to Hermione, was conscious of something a little out of joint here, of something not quite as it should be. For, after all, everybody is not called upon to set everybody to rights. There are limits to our duties.
To suggest that Hermione was labouring under a mistake lay beyond the reach of Marjory's capabilities. She said only, "You like Harvey really, do you not? in himself, I mean."
Hermione wore a look of thought. "Yes," she said; "I like him certainly—as my cousin. That does not always mean much, does it? A cousin may be a great deal to one or nothing at all. He wishes to be a brother to me, and I have no objection, so far as it is possible, though he did not behave as he should to my grandfather. The past cannot be undone, and he was willing to pass it over. I believe it is wisest to drop the thought of the past, and to begin afresh. If Julia will let me, I shall be a sister to her. Only I cannot help wishing that this Mrs. Trevor had kept away just now. Hark, the bells are beginning."
Marjory was in tears. Hermione slipped a hand through her arm.
"Dear Marjory, I know you feel so much for me," she said.
Marjory could not have told whether she felt most keenly for Hermione or for herself at that moment. She was one to suffer keenly from every "new departure" in life.
"I must go, Hermione. They will be here directly."