“Do you mean the big portrait?” carelessly.
“Yes.”
“Miss Gwendoline Grant-Carew.”
Paddy gazed at the portrait silently for another space, and then remarked:
“She is very beautiful.”
“Yes, very,” dryly.
Again Paddy was silent.
If she had tried she could not have analysed her feelings just then. She was only conscious that in some way the photograph was a shock to her. Though she had scarcely confessed it to herself, she undoubtedly shared the opinion of the neighbourhood, that Lawrence was paying Eileen such marked attention with a view to marriage, and since the incident of the clasped hands she had grown to think of him as a prospective brother-in-law. Unaccountable divination told her the rest.
“Why do you look at her like that?” asked Lawrence at last. “Don’t you like her?”
“No,” said Paddy slowly, “I hate her.”