Meanwhile there was a cloudiness in the moral atmosphere upstairs which betokened a storm.
Ruth saw it and trembled, for hour by hour her cousins had seemed to her to change.
She did not know how it was—in fact, she was puzzled; but the change was very natural. The two girls had been treated somewhat after the fashion of flowers, and grown on and on in their cool retirement until they had attained to their full development and beauty, though as yet only in a state of bud. Then they had suddenly been placed in the full blaze of society’s sunshine.
The effect was what might have been expected. The buds had suddenly expanded; every latent thought of suppressed womanhood had burst into light and passionate life; every kept-down fancy and desire that had been in abeyance had started forth, and the buds were in full bloom, just as some choice exotic will in a few hours be completely transformed.
Very little was said for a time, but as the sisters removed their walking apparel there was more than one fierce look exchanged.
“I saw her look at him,” thought Clotilde; “and I’d kill her sooner than she should.”
“Such outrageous effrontery!” thought Marie; “but she does not know me if she thinks I am going to sit down quietly and let her win.”
“Enjoy your walk, dear?” said Clotilde, attitudinising before the glass, and admiring herself with half-closed eyes.
“Oh yes, Clo dear, it was delightful; but you shouldn’t flirt so with that little boy.”
“Now that’s too bad, dear,” retorted Clotilde, turning half round to smile sweetly at her sister. “You know that it was you. I felt quite ashamed sometimes to see how you went on.”