As for Nina, her complexities were too many and too much interwoven for our investigation; and there were thoughts of all the various persons she had met in Ireland, mingled with scenes of the past, and, more strangely still, the people placed in situations and connections which by no likelihood should they ever have occupied. The thought that the little comedy of everyday life, which she relished immensely, was now to cease for lack of actors, made her serious—almost sad—and she seldom spoke during the meal.
At Lord Kilgobbin’s request, that they would not leave him to take his wine alone, they drew their chairs round the dining-room fire; but, except the bright glow of the ruddy turf, and the pleasant look of the old man himself, there was little that smacked of the agreeable fireside.
‘What has come over you girls this evening?’ said the old man. ‘Are you in love, or has the man that ought to be in love with either of you discovered it was only a mistake he was making?’
‘Ask Nina, sir,’ said Kate gravely.
‘Perhaps you are right, uncle,’ said Nina dreamily.
‘In which of my guesses—the first or the last?’
‘Don’t puzzle me, sir, for I have no head for a subtle distinction. I only meant to say it is not so easy to be in love without mistakes. You mistake realities and traits for something not a bit like them, and you mistake yourself by imagining that you mind them.’
‘I don’t think I understand you,’ said the old man.
‘Very likely not, sir. I do not know if I had a meaning that I could explain.’
‘Nina wants to tell you, my lord, that the right man has not come forward yet, and she does not know whether she’ll keep the place open in her heart for him any longer,’ said Dick, with a half-malicious glance.