“Oh, well,” Teresa went on, “everybody says the same thing in the same circumstances.”
“Everybody says the same thing, only some people say it differently.”
“Some people are not half so pretty!” cried Teresa triumphantly and illogically.
She went away into her own room at once lest she should weaken Sylvia’s cause by remaining, and the next moment Sylvia herself appeared. Her sister glanced quickly at her. Were disquieting confidences at hand? But no; the charming eyes were quite untroubled.
“I heard you come in,” she said.
“Yes,” said Teresa, sticking up a half-finished sketch for contemplation. “All the lights changed, so we had to stop. What have you been doing? Has Mr Wilbraham been here?”
“No. We are to drive by-and-by, but he had letters to write this morning—he often has,” said Sylvia simply. “I think it a good thing that a man should have plenty to do,” she added, with the touch of decision which was now accentuating her truisms.
“There’s a discovery!” Teresa cried gaily, and then was smitten with compunction. She need not have minded.
“You don’t agree with me,” said Sylvia in the same tone, “because you don’t appreciate Walter. Of course, I understand him better; I understand him very well indeed. And I wish you wouldn’t call him Mr Wilbraham, Teresa. It sounds so funny with your own brother-in-law.”
“My dear! He isn’t my brother-in-law yet.”