“Very little, and if I press her she shudders, and seems ready to burst out sobbing. Then I have to comfort her by telling her that I am sure she will never see him any more, and when I say this she looks at me so strangely.”
“What does mamma say?”
“Oh, only that Julie is foolish and hysterical. She doesn’t understand her at all. Poor mamma never did understand us girls, I’m sure,” said Cynthia, with a profound look of wisdom upon her little face.
“And papa?”
“Oh, poor dear papa thinks of nothing but seeing us married and—Oh, Harry, I am ashamed.”
“What of?” he cried, catching her in his arms and kissing her tenderly. “Why, Cynthy, I never knew before what a fine old fellow the pater is. He is up to par in my estimation now.”
“Is that meant for a joke, sir?” said Cynthia mockingly.
“Joke?—joke? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Never mind now; but you need not be so pleased about what papa says. I think it’s very cruel—wanting to get rid of us.”
“I don’t,” exclaimed Artingale, laughing.