“I am not bitter to him. I think him a very accomplished, clever, amusing person, good-looking, manly, and so forth; and probably, if he hadn’t persecuted me with attentions that I did not like or encourage, I might have felt very cordially towards him.”
“Could he help being in love with you, Florry?”
“In love!” repeated she, in a voice of mockery and scorn.
“Ay, Florry, I never saw a man more thoroughly, devotedly in love. I could tell, as I entered the breakfast room, whether you had spoken to him in coldness or the reverse. His voice, as he read aloud, would betray whether you were listening with pleasure or indifference. You had not a mood of gay or grave that was not reflected in his face; and one day I remember, when I remarked on the capricious changes of his spirits, he said, ‘Don’t blame me; I am what she makes me: the happiest or the most miserable fellow breathing.’ ‘Well,’ replied I, ‘I fancied from your good spirits it was some pleasant tidings the post had brought you.’ ‘No,’ said he, ‘it was this;’ and he drew a violet from his pocket, and showed it to me. I suppose you had given it to him.”
“I dropped it, and he wouldn’t give it back. I remember the day.” And, as she spoke, she turned her head aside, but her sister saw that her cheek was crimson. Then suddenly she said, “How was it that you had such confidences together? I’m sure that, knowing my engagement, you must have seen how improper it was to listen to such nonsense on his part.”
“I couldn’t help it, Florry; the poor fellow would come to me with his heart almost breaking. I declare, there were times when his despair actually terrified me; and having heard from Aunt Grainger what dreadful passions these Calverts give way to—how reckless of consequences—”
“There, there, dear, spare me that physiology of the race of Calverts, of which I have gone through, I hope, every imaginable feature. To poor Aunt Grainger’s eyes the dragon of the Drachenfels is a mild domestic creature in comparison with one of them.” There was a jarring vibration in her sister’s tone, that told it were safer not to prolong the discussion, and little more was said as they walked towards the house. At last Florence stopped short, and, pointing to the window of the room lately occupied by Calvert, said, “Joseph will dislike all those climbing creepers there, Milly; he hates that sort of thing. Let them be cut away.”
“If you wish it, dearest; but is it not a pity? Only think of all the time and pains it cost to train that jessamine—”
“Oh, if they have such tender memories for you, let them remain by all means; but I think it will be quite as well not to tell Joseph the reasons for which they were spared.”
Though the speech was uttered in irritation, Emily affected to hear it without emotion, and said, “It was Harry’s own desire that we should not speak of him to Joseph, and I mean to obey it.”