‘You believe! It is very ridiculous of you to venture when you only believe,’ said Theodora, never imagining that those mild weary tones could withstand her for a moment. ‘Stay at home and rest. You know Arthur may come at any time.’
‘I mean to go, if you please; I know I ought.’
‘Then remember, if you are ill, it is your fault, not mine.’
Violet attempted a meek smile.
Theodora could only show her annoyance by impatience with her toilette. Her sister tried to help her; but nothing suited nothing pleased her—all was untoward; and at last Violet said, ‘Is Percy to be there?’
‘Not a chance of it. What made you think so?’
‘Because you care so much.’
Somehow, that saying stung her to the quick, and the more because it was so innocently spoken.
‘I do not care,’ she said. ‘You are so simple, Violet, you fancy all courtships must be like your own. One can’t spend six years like six weeks.’
The colour rushed painfully into Violet’s face, and she quitted the room. It was a moment of dire shame and grief to Theodora, who had not intended a taunt, but rather to excuse her own doings; and as the words came back on her, and she perceived the most unmerited reproach they must have conveyed, she was about to hurry after her sister, explain, and entreat her pardon. Almost immediately, however, Violet returned, with her hands full of some beautiful geraniums, that morning sent to her by Mrs. Harrison.