“I wanted to walk,” was all Ethel said, as she moved away to take off her hat and coat.
But in spite of her efforts the gaiety did not return, and Doris grew a little pensive and sad.
Dudley, with his surface reasoning, saw in her attitude something that suggested the other two were in the habit of being entirely wrapped up in each other, to the exclusion of the young sister.
Ethel might be a remarkably clever and capable woman; he knew perfectly well that she was just as able with her fingers as her brain, and did nearly all the upholstering and dressmaking of the household in her evening free time; but wasn’t she just a little superior and self-satisfied also—just a little unkindly indifferent to the monotony and dullness of her young sister’s existence?
Dudley found his sympathy go out more and more to those childlike eyes, and the pretty, clinging ways; and a sort of half-fledged resentment grew up against the elder sister. He could not choose but admire her, if it were only for her devotion to her brother, but he felt a vague something, in his thoughts of her, that he could not express, and remained grave.
Ethel, watching them both covertly while she moved about helping Doris to clear away the dinner things, guessed at much that was passing in his mind, and unconsciously grew a little strained in her manner to him. That he should pity Doris and blame her seemed at last irony, but it could not be helped; and not even to win his love could she attempt to change her natural manner, and appear what might better please him.
She even said “good-night” a little coldly, and remained beside Basil while Doris went out into the tiny hall with him to get his hat and coat.
Doris seemed to Dudley a lonely little figure out there in the dim light, with just the suggestion of a droop about her lips and wistfulness in her eyes. He believed that she found herself left out in the cold with those other two, but was too proud to complain. He felt a tenderness springing up in his heart and spreading to his eyes as he leaned towards her with a protecting air.
She was small and fragile. It made him feel big and protective; and he liked it. Hal was so tall and straight and slim and boyish—not in the least the sort of person one could really feel protective to; and he liked clinging women… His head bent down quite near to hers as he said in a low tone: “I suppose they are like lovers, those two, and you feel a little out of it, eh?”
“Yes”—confidingly and gratefully—“and it makes me very unhappy, because I love to slave for Basil just as much as Ethel does. But he does not want me…” with a little sad air.