"Any good woman would love you, Edgar," said my sister. She hesitated, then asked slowly: "Have you said anything to Coralie?"
"Certainly not. Why should I?"
A delicate color flushed my sister's face.
"To tell you the truth," she replied, "I have fancied of late that Coralie likes you. Nay, I need not mince matters; I am quite sure she loves you."
"She loves us both, because we are all in the world she has to love; but not in the way you mean, Clare."
But Clare shook her head doubtfully.
"I hope I may be mistaken; but, Edgar, I have a nervous feeling about it, difficult to describe and hard to bear, as though evil would come to you through her. I cannot tell you how the thought haunts and perplexes me."
I laughed, little dreaming then how it would be.
"Sheer nervous fancy, Clare. Take it at the very worst, that Coralie does like me, perhaps, a little too well, and is both piqued and angry at my engagement, in the name of common sense, I ask you, what possible harm can she do to me?"
"None that I can see; yet the dread lies heavy upon me, brother."