Agatha, however, came home somewhat annoyed by the whole arrangement. She supposed the rupture with Hubert might have been inevitable; but she was very sorry for it, thinking that Vera might have grown up to him, and regretting the losing him as a brother. Nor did she like the atmosphere of the Whites and Rocca Marina for her feather-brained young sister. “Dolores had no great opinion of her Aunt Adeline,” she said.
“My dear,” said Magdalen, as they sat over their early fire, “I have talked it over with Lady Merrifield and Miss Mohun, and they both tell me that Mrs. White is very sensible, and sure to be discreet for any girl in her charge—probably better for Flapsy than a more intellectual woman.”
“But—! Such a marriage as this one!” said Agatha.
“It was Mr. White’s own niece, and taken out of Mrs. White’s hands,” said Magdalen. “Besides,” as Agatha still looked unconvinced, “one thing that made me think the invitation desirable was that it would break off any foolishness with Wilfred Merrifield—I think it was in their minds too.”
“Wilfred! Oh, there was a little nonsense.”
“Less on his side, since Felicia Vanderkist has been here; but I think Vera has been all the more disposed to—to—”
“Run after him,” said Agatha. “I could fancy it in Flapsy; but he is such a boy, and not half so nice-looking as the rest of them either.”
“My dear Agatha, I must tell you he reminds me strangely of a young Mr. Merrifield whom I knew at Filsted when I was younger than you.”
“A brother of Bessie?”
“Even so. He got into some kind of trouble at Filsted, his father came and broke it off, and sent him out to Canada, where I fear he did not do well, and nothing has been heard of him since, except—”