“Oh, I am sure of it!” I said. “I don’t know why he loves me so much, he has seen me so little; but it began from the very first minute I think with both of us. He is such a nice shape!”
She laughed. Then she asked me if she was right in supposing all these contretemps we had had were the doing of Lady Ver. “You need not answer, dear,” she said. “I know Ianthe—she is in love with Robert herself, she can’t help it; she means no harm, but she often gets these attacks, and they pass off. I think she is devoted to Sir Charles really.”
“Y-e-s,” I said.
“It is a queer world we live in, child,” she continued, “and true love and suitability of character are such a rare combination, but, from what I can judge, you and Robert possess them.”
“Oh, how dear of you to say so!” I exclaimed. “You don’t think I must be bad, then, because of my colouring?”
“What a ridiculous idea, you sweet child!” she laughed. “Who has told you that?”
“Oh! Mrs. Carruthers always said so—and—and—the old gentlemen, and—even Mr. Carruthers hinted I probably had some odd qualities. But you do think I shall be able to be fairly good, don’t you?”
She was amused I could see, but I was serious.
“I think you probably might have been a little wicked if you had married a man like Mr. Carruthers,” she said, smiling; “but with Robert I am sure you will be good. He will never leave you a moment, and he will love you so much you won’t have time for anything else.”
“Oh! that is what I shall like—being loved,” I said.