Margaret Maliphant

by Alice Vansittart Strettel Carr

I am so glad I said no more, for she had brought me a book from London—it was a novel by a famous author of whom we had heard; the author was a woman, and I had expressed a great wish to read it in consequence. I was very pleased to think that Joyce should have remembered it. I recollect that I kissed her for it, and I thought no more about the frocks, I only felt that it was nice to have sister home. I had not known until now how much I had missed her.

"I wonder how we shall all get on when you go away for good and marry that young man of yours?" said I. "It don't seem as if the place were itself somehow when you are not there."

"Time enough to think of that when the day comes," answered Joyce, I thought a trifle sadly.

"Well, yes, maybe," said I, doubtfully; "and yet it isn't so very far off, you know. And if only you had a little more determination in you it might be a great deal nearer."

"You seem to be very anxious to get rid of me just as soon as you have got me home," said she, with just the merest tone of wounded sensibility in her voice.

Of course I laughed at that—it wasn't really worth answering. But I could have said that since three weeks ago, I had learned that which made me think it harder than ever that Joyce should be separated from the man she loved. I had not thought much of her or her concerns of late, but now that she was close to me I felt very sorry for her. When Joyce had gone away I had been conscious of a curious feeling of inferiority with regard to her as though she knew some secret which was to me sealed, but now—now I felt that there was a rent in the cloud that divided us; I felt that I could look into her world, I felt that I was on her level. And it was only with a more delicate feeling of sympathy than formerly that I began to give her some of the messages with which Frank had intrusted me.

I could not exactly pretend that he had looked very miserable, but I could assure her of his continued ardent devotion to her, and this I did most fervently. Somehow, when I had entered upon this task I began to feel that it was rather a queer compliment to assure a girl that her lover was not forgetting her, and I asked myself why I felt obliged to do it.

She listened quietly to all that I repeated to her of the short interview, but when I began to speak of my endeavors to induce mother to cut the term of the engagement short, she interrupted me with that serene air of determination which I knew there was no gainsaying.