“Oh, she’s all right just now—she is over there shepherding the two old Miss Birketts—and they are such clingers that she won’t get away from them for some time. You can always tell a clinger at a party—they’re so afraid of losing you for fear they don’t get any one else.”
Mrs. Atterton’s jolly face grew even pleasanter than usual, and she looked extraordinarily like her daughter Elizabeth, in spite of her huge bulk, as she replied—
“How awful not to be sure you are wanted!”
Norah glanced in the direction of her sister, who sat between two elderly ladies on a long seat.
“It’s awful to care about being wanted as much as Elizabeth does.” She paused, her keen, lovely little face and slim, erect figure outlined clearly against the green lawn. “It’s dangerous,” she added. “She’d far rather be with a dull person who wanted her badly than the most brilliant one who was indifferent. It’s a fault in her character. I’ve always felt it, even when we were at school.”
She stood frowning, speaking more to herself than to her mother; her strong affection for her sister, of which neither ever spoke, making her uneasy and alert.
“Elizabeth has not a weak character,” said Mrs. Atterton.
“No—she’s strong—with a weak spot—that’s worse,” answered Norah, still more to herself than to her mother.
“You can’t move her when she has once made up her mind,” pursued Mrs. Atterton vaguely.
“That’s the worst of all,” said Norah. “However”—she shrugged her shoulders—“life is apt to get muddled whether you’re clever or not. Oh, here’s father with the Mayor and Mayoress of Marshaven and party. He’s happy, anyway. The Marshaven Corporation is his toy. How is it all men have to have a toy? Women don’t.”