Being thus bereft of Dick, what more natural than that I should be entertained by his sister?
She speaks of Dick's happiness with a bright gleam in her eye.
“He should feel very grateful to you,” she says.
I should have preferred “we” to “he,” but, unluckily, I have no choice in the matter.
“I envy him,” I reply, with meaning in my voice.
Her face is composed and as demure as ever, only her color seems to me to be a little higher and her eye certainly does not meet mine as frankly as usual.
Suddenly I am emboldened to exclaim:
“I do not mean that I envy him Miss Grey, but his happiness in being loved!”
And then I tell her whose love I myself covet.
She is embarrassed, she is kind, she is not offended, but her look checks me.