An equal sense of baffled discomfort pressed on Virginia. She had very seldom seen a cloud on Alvar’s brow; he never committed such an act of discourtesy as to be out of temper in her presence; but to-day he looked so stern as to prompt her to say, timidly, “Has anything vexed you, Alvar?”
“How could I be vexed when you are here, queen of my heart?” said Alvar, turning to her with a smile. “See, will you come to get some strawberries—it is hot?”
“I would rather you told me when things trouble you,” said Virginia.
“It is not for you, mi doña, to hear of things that are troubling,” said Alvar, still rather abstractedly.
“Are you still anxious about Cherry?” she persisted.
“Ay de mi, yes; I am anxious about him,” said Alvar, sharply; then changing, “but I am ungallant to show you my anxiety. That is not for you.”
“Ah, how you misunderstand what I want!” she cried. “If I only knew what you feel, if you would talk to me about yourself! But it is like giving an Eastern lady fine dresses and sugar-plums.”
The gentle Virginia was angry and agitated. All through Cheriton’s illness she had felt herself kept at a distance by Alvar, known herself unable to comfort him, had suffered pangs that were like enough to jealousy, to intensify themselves by self-reproach. Yet she gloried in Alvar’s devotion to his brother, in his skill and tenderness. Alvar did not perceive what she wanted, and, moreover, was of course unable to tell her the present cause of his annoyance, at the existence of which he did not wish her to guess.
“See now,” he said, taking her hands and kissing them, “how I am discourteous; I am sulky, and I let you see it. Forgive me, forgive me, it shall be so no more. You shed tears; ah, my queen, they reproach me!”
Virginia yielded to his caresses and his kindness, and blamed herself. Some day, perhaps, in a quieter moment, she could show him that she wanted to share his troubles and not be protected from them. In the meantime his presence was almost enough.