“I think all your selfishness lies in your desire for knowledge,” said June.
“That is no doubt uncontrollable,” said Scott, looking at Paul and wondering how June or any one else could resist the charm of his great dreamy eyes. But he supposed that June had hardly thought of love, and Paul was only a boy. He thought of it being her birthday, but could hardly realize that she was seventeen. He knew that she had plenty of admirers, but he hoped that she had not thought of marrying one of them.
She spoke to Scott of the number of invitations 107 sent out, and among them was the name of Colonel Brunswick.
“Did you invite Brunswick?” he asked.
“Rene sent him the invitation,” said June.
Scott’s hazel eyes grew darker with the fire that shone in them. Paul, with his keenly perceptive powers, knew that there was a fierce struggle going on in his breast, and never did he pity the most miserable slave more than he pitied him at that moment. He was aware of Scott’s wonderful self-control, and he sent up a silent prayer that he might become like him, and that the noble man might yet see happier hours. Of Irene’s true character Paul already knew more than did Scott, and he feared that instead of his life clouds dispersing, they would continue to grow blacker; but he had a hope, slight though it was, that the scene which had been enacted on that dismal night would not be repeated.
“It looks cloudy,” said June. “I want my birthday of all the year to be a pleasant one.”
“I hope they will all be cloudless,” said Scott, “but, June, I can hardly realize that you are seventeen. Many a young lady is married at that age.”
“Many are very silly, then. I have not the least idea of giving up the best of my life by getting married.”
“You are looking as sweet as a rose, June,” Irene said as she entered June’s room, faultlessly dressed, on the evening of that day. “I know mama will be delighted with your dress; it fits to perfection. I hope you will make the most of your opportunities. Mr. Linton will be captivated, I know.”