“Yes, yes, of course,” said Mrs Glaire.
“But—but—does he ever talk to you about—being married?”
“Married, aunt? Oh no!”
“He ought to,” said Mrs Glaire, with a sigh. “Eve, my child, I think it would be better for you both if you were married.”
“Do you, aunt; why?” said Eve, naïvely.
“It would be better for me too,” said Mrs Glaire, evading the question.
“Would it, aunt?” said Eve, looking at her for a moment, and then hanging her head as if in deep thought.
“Yes, my dear, I should feel happier—I should feel that Richard was settled. That he had a good, true, dutiful wife, who would watch over him and guide him when I am gone.”
“Oh, aunty, aunty, aunty,” cried the girl, turning and twining her arms round her neck to kiss her tenderly, “you are low-spirited and upset with that terrible trouble to-day. You must not talk like that. Why, you look so young and bright and happy sometimes, that it’s nonsense for you to say dear Dick wants some one to look after him. Of course we shall be married some day—when Dick likes; but we never think of such a thing—at least, I’m sure I don’t.”
There was a pleasant, rosy flush on the girl’s face as she spoke, and just then a cough in the hall made her jump up, exclaiming—