“I don’t suppose it was ever me at all,” said Val with averted head. “I can’t think why we’ve ever imagined such nonsense. Anyway, it’s all over now, and I—I think I rather hate him, now.”
“Oh!” Flora’s tone was both highly dissatisfied and rather incredulous.
“One can’t hate a person and—and like them, at one and the same time,” Valeria exclaimed, with all the vehemence of those who affirm that of which they are not convinced.
“I suppose not. See if you can untie me, Val—I’ve got into a knot.”
There was silence, and then Valeria, without looking at her sister, suddenly said:
“Sometimes I wish we’d been brought up more like other people, Flossie. I know Father’s care for us has been beautiful—dear Father!—but somehow the girls I was with in France seemed more alive, in a way. They knew about things....”
“Isn’t that rather like Eve wanting the knowledge of good and evil? Father always says that one should only seek the beautiful side—‘whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are holy,’ like St. Paul says.”
“Owen wouldn’t agree to that. He believes that one ought to know everything, good and bad alike.”
“Perhaps it’s different for a man.”
“Perhaps. We don’t know much about men, after all, do we, Flossie?”