She blushed as if I had been reproaching her with her insignificance. “Never! I think I’ve hardly lived.”
“You’ve begun to live now perhaps. You’ve begun to care for something else than your old-fashioned habits. Pardon me if I seem rather meddlesome; you know we Americans are very rough and ready. It’s a great moment. I wish you joy!”
“I could almost believe you’re laughing at me. I feel more trouble than joy.”
“Why do you feel trouble?”
She paused with her eyes fixed on our companions. “My cousin’s arrival’s a great disturbance,” she said at last.
“You mean you did wrong in coming to meet him? In that case the fault’s mine. He had no intention of giving you the opportunity.”
“I certainly took too much on myself. But I can’t find it in my heart to regret it. I never shall regret it! I did the only thing I could, heaven forgive me!”
“Heaven bless you, Miss Searle! Is any harm to come of it? I did the evil; let me bear the brunt!”
She shook her head gravely. “You don’t know my brother!”
“The sooner I master the subject the better then,” I said. I couldn’t help relieving myself—at least by the tone of my voice—of the antipathy with which, decidedly, this gentleman had inspired me. “Not perhaps that we should get on so well together!” After which, as she turned away, “Are you very much afraid of him?” I added.