“I don’t deny that I have formed decided opinions, though I don’t pledge myself they are correct.”
“Well?”
“I think I shall like your brother, but I know I shan’t like his wife.”
“Very straightforwardly put. An instinct merely, or something more?”
“Something more, I think. You know, I have seen their portraits; well, I have thought about them a great deal, and now I have compared my impressions of the photographs with my impressions of the originals, and the result is a decided opinion.”
“You know I told you that you would like my brother—that all ladies do,” said Vernon, with a perceptible shade of jealousy.
“Well, you were right; I admit it. He seems the incarnation of good humor—to shed a sort of sunshine of cheeriness around him.”
“Yes, yes, he does,” admitted Vernon, rather bitterly, Olivia thought.
She continued: “It was plain that, for some reason or other, neither he nor Mrs. Brander was glad to see me. It almost seemed as if they took an instinctive dislike to me. But even that could not sour your brother; it scarcely made him less genial. On the other hand, it made all the difference in the world to Mrs. Brander’s manner. She looked at me just as if I were an enemy, who had done her, or was going to do her, some severe injury.”
Glancing at her companion, Olivia saw that something she had said affected him very strongly. She was silent therefore, afraid that she had already said too much.