'Then,' cried Gertrude, vehemently, 'you and he have been deceiving us all this time!'
'No, Gertrude, there was nothing to tell. I did not really know, and I could not gossip about him.'
'You might have hinted.'
'I tried, but I was clumsy.'
'I hate hints!' exclaimed the impetuous young lady; 'one can't understand them, and gets the credit of neglecting them. If people have a secret attachment, they ought to let all their family know!'
'Perhaps they do in Ireland.'
'You don't feel one grain for me, Ethel,' said Gertrude, with tears in her eyes. 'Only think how Tom led me on to say horrid things about the Wards; and now to recollect them, when she is so ill too—and he—' She burst into sobs.
'My poor Daisy! I dare say it was half my fault.'
Gertrude gave an impatient leap. 'There you go again! calling it your fault is worse than Charles's improving the circumstance. It was my fault, and it shall be my fault, and nobody else's fault, except Tom's, and he will hate me, and never let me come near her to show that I am not a nasty spiteful thing!'
'I think that if you are quiet and kind, and not flighty, he will forget all that, and be glad to let you be a sister to her.'