"What did he say, Dora? Was he nervous—or—-"
"Very nervous. He seemed quite afraid to come to the point. You see I am always so distant in my manner," says my modest sister, "he had no way of judging what my answer was likely to be."
"I am sure whatever he said was just what it should be, he is so thoroughly sincere," I remark, still anxious to get at the root of the matter.
"I am afraid I cannot altogether satisfy your curiosity Phyllis, it has all got so mixed up. Of course he told me principally what I knew before—that he adores me, for instance, and was desirous of marrying me, and so forth. Ha was slightly incoherent, I thought; but it really signified very little whether his English was good or bad, so long as I managed to understand what he meant."
"Of course not, darling. Oh, Dora, I am so sorry we let mamma go without telling her."
"I did tell her, dear. At least, that is, he—George told her." She brings out the Christian name of her beloved with a charming amount of diffidence. "He said he would like to make sure of me; and indeed I thought myself it might perhaps be as well he should be the one to mention it to her as a settled thing. You understand?"
I do, and begin to entertain rather an admiration for Dora's astuteness.
"You will forgive me now, Dora?" I say, suddenly leaning over to put my hand on hers.
"Forgive you? Forgive what?"
"Well, dear, when I married 'Duke, you know, I thought you were rather vexed—you said so many things; and sometimes I have fancied, since, you still think I was in the wrong."