Rose was left alone, mistress of her sister’s fate. She put her head into her hands and filled with anxiety and sudden doubt.
Like a good many more of us, she had been positive so long as the decision did not rest with her. But with power comes responsibility, with responsibility comes doubt. Easy to be an advocate in re incerta; hard to be the judge. And she had but a few seconds to think in; for Raynal was at hand. The last thing in her mind before he joined her was the terrible power of that base Camille over her sister. She despaired of curing Josephine, but a husband might. There’s such divinity doth hedge a husband in innocent girls’ minds.
“Well, little lady,” began Raynal, “and how are you, and how is my mother-in-law that is to be—or is not to be, as your sister pleases; and how is SHE? have I frightened her away? There were two petticoats, and now there is but one.”
“She left me to answer you.”
“All the worse for me: I am not to your taste.”
“Do not say that,” said Rose, almost hysterically.
“Oh! it is no sacrilege. Not one in fifty likes me.”
“But I do like you, sir.”
“Then why won’t you let me have your sister?”
“I have not quite decided that you shall not have her,” faltered poor Rose. She murmured on, “I dare say you think me very unkind, very selfish; but put yourself in my place. I love my sister as no man can ever love her, I know: my heart has been one flesh and one soul with hers all my life. A stranger comes and takes her away from me as if she was I don’t know what; his portmanteau; takes her to Egypt, oh! oh! oh!”