“How trying for Mary”—the nervousness was quite gone now—once he had broached a delicate subject Perior could handle it with little compunction.
“Mary is very happy, if you please. She adores me, and is devoted to Mamma. Mamma is certainly nicer to her than I am—that is an affair of temperament, for Mary does bore me tremendously—I think she knows that she does, but she adores me, since I don’t deserve it—the way of the world—a horrid place—I don’t deny it.”
“Happy Mary! allowed to adore your effulgence—but at a distance—since she bores you, and knows she does!” And over his collar Camelia could observe that Perior’s neck had grown red. She joined him at the window, and said, looking up at his face—
“Why do you force me to such speeches? I am not responsible for the inequalities of nature—though I recognize them so cold-bloodedly. The contrast does not hurt her, for she is a good, contented little soul, and then—for nature does give compensations—she has no keen susceptibilities;” she locked her hands on his shoulder, and smiling at him, “Come, you know that I am fond of Mary. You should have seen how prettily I arranged her hair to-day—it would have softened your heart towards me. Come, we are not going to quarrel again.”
Perior’s eye turned on her, certainly softened in expression, “By no means, I hope,” and he smiled a little, “especially as I must be off—since I have missed my ride.”
Camelia’s face at this unlooked-for consummation took on an expression of sincerest dismay.
“Going! you will leave me all alone! They have all gone!”
Perior laughed, looking at her now with the same touch of irrepressible pleasure she could usually count on arousing.
“Poor little baby! and it has a headache, too?”
“Yes, it has; please stay with it.”