"Because it seems all so hopeless; even—if I loved him enough to marry him—they would never give in" (meaning, presumably, her aunts): "so why should he or I waste time over so impossible a theory?"
"Why should it be impossible? Why should you not be married?"
"Because the fates are against us. Not," quickly, "that that so much matters: I don't want to marry anybody! But—but," lowering her lids, "I do want him to love me."
"My dear child, talk sense if you talk at all," says the material Kit. "There never yet was a heroine in any novel ever read by me (and I have had a large experience) who didn't want to marry the man of her heart. Now just look at that girl of Rhoda Broughton's, in 'Good-by, Sweetheart!' We can all see she didn't die of any disease, but simply because she couldn't be wedded to the man she loved. There's a girl for you! give me a girl like that. If ever I fall in love with a man, and I find I can't marry him, I shall make a point of dying of grief. It is so graceful; just like what I have heard of Irving and Ellen Terry—I mean, Romeo and Juliet!"
"But I can't bear to deceive Aunt Priscilla," says Monica. "She is so kind, so good."
"Stuff and nonsense!" says Kit promptly. "Do you suppose, when Aunt Priscilla was young, she would have deserted—let us say—Mr. Desmond the elder, at the beck and call of any one? She has too much spirit, to do her credit. Though I must say her spirit is rather out of place now, at times."
"What would you have me do, then?" asks Monica, desperately.
"Oh, nothing," says Kit, airily,—"really nothing. I am too young, of course, to give advice," with a little vicious toss of her small head. "And of course, too, I know nothing of the world's ways," with another toss, that conveys to her auditor the idea that she believes herself thoroughly versed and skilled in society's lore, but that as yet she is misunderstood. "And it is not my place, of course, to dictate to an elder sister." This severely, and evidently intended as a slap at Monica because of some little rebuke delivered by her, the other day, on the subject of age. "But," with concentrated energy, "I would not be brutal, if I were you."
"Brutal?" faintly.
"Yes, brutal, to keep him waiting for you all this time in the shadow near the ivy wall!"