“I shouldn’t think sisters are often so different,” he went on. “Aunt Jane and Aunt Mary are almost exactly alike. There isn’t much difference between Kathleen and Doreen Blake, either,” he added, as if leading up to something, and then blurted out a little awkwardly, “I suppose you’re very glad they’re coming back?”
“Yes,” Eileen replied simply; “aren’t you?”
Jack did not reply, but remarked instead:
“I don’t suppose Lawrence will stay at home long. This place is much too tame for him.”
Eileen only gazed fixedly at the distant sea.
“I can’t say I think it will be much loss to the neighbourhood,” continued outspoken Jack. “He does fancy himself so.”
“I don’t think he does,” she said. “It is only that the people about here do not appeal to him in some way, and so he stands aloof.”
“We’re not clever enough, I suppose; but we could give him points in a good many things, all the same,” a little savagely, biting at a piece of string with his strong white teeth. “What has he ever done beyond taking a few degrees at Oxford?”
“You haven’t even done that.” And Eileen turned to him suddenly, with serious eyes. She was the only one of all about him who ever took him to task seriously about his idle life. His aunts were too fond and too indulgent, his father too wrapped up in his books and his loss, and Paddy, being as irresponsible and happy-go-lucky herself, only thought about the good time they were having in the present. Eileen, however, saw further, and sometimes tried to influence him.
He was silent now before the veiled reproach in her words, but presently, with an irresistible little smile, he said.