“There was no pretence about it, Aunt dear.”
“But indeed there was, Isabel, and I was obliged to entertain him, instead of you. Naturally enough, he complained very bitterly of your treatment, and I must say that for a young lady engaged to him it is most icy, almost paralysing.”
“Papa will not persist,” thought Isabel; “he has grown so kind and loving to me. He will not make me say yes, when he knows that it would break my heart.”
“Now, it is of no use for you to turn sulky, my dear, and take refuge in silence. That is very childish and unbecoming in a girl like you. For you are no longer a child, and if you cannot do what is just and right, you must be taught. I have invited Sir Cheltnam to dinner on Tuesday.”
“Aunt!”
“Yes, my dear, and I am sure your papa will highly approve of my plan. It is absurd to go on as you do, though your conduct is no worse than your brothers’. I declare, the house is quite wretched: Neil shut up always in the library, pretending to study bones, and Alison sulking about in the gunroom, and scowling at Neil whenever they meet. All I hope is that nothing worse will come of it.”
“Oh, Aunt, what could come of it?” said Isabel uneasily.
“Ah, you speak like a child. When you have had my experience of the world and man’s angry passions, you too will have fears.”
“It is all very sad and a great pity,” said Isabel. “Yes, and a greater pity that those two misguided young men’s sister should go on as she does, making a devoted friend of the cause of all the mischief.” Isabel winced.
“I’m sure we’ve quite trouble enough in the house without having a parricide.”