Theodora’s sincerity longed for confession, and she refrained with difficulty. Those unconscious words set her vile temper before her in its true light. She had resented the being treated with consideration, and had been moody towards her brother, because he was under anxiety!
Self-convicted, she gave a deep sigh; but fearing again to distress Violet, began to admire the baby, who was in truth a remarkably large and handsome child, very dark and like the Martindales, and, both in size and serenity, such a contrast to her brother, that, proud as she was of her, her mamma only half liked praise of her that might be depreciation of him, and began to defend him from the charge of crying before he had had strength for it.
Her name, of course, was to be Helen, and to this Violet softly added, Theodora.
‘No, no; that will bring her no good. It is Aunt Nesbit’s name.’
‘It is one I love the sound of.’
‘You won’t another time.’
Violet vaguely perceived something amiss; but too weak to think about it, closed her eyes and fell into a doze.
Those few gentle sayings had brought back Theodora’s affection and sense of right. She longed to recall her glance. If it had taken effect she must persevere. She could not endure the humiliation of having a third time trifled with a lover; she would not feel herself sunk into a mere coquette. But what would Violet think!
Violet suddenly awoke with a terrified gaze. ‘Arthur! Arthur! O, where is he!’
‘Down-stairs, dearest; he will come.’ But to her extreme alarm, the words had no effect.