“You will now be one of those yourself, Mr. Hardinge”—observed Emily, with great tact—“for you are fully entitled to it, by the trouble you are giving yourself, and the taste and judgment you possess.”
Lucy looked petrified. She had so long accustomed herself to think of Grace as her future sister, that the open admiration expressed in Rupert's countenance, which was too manifest to escape any of us, first threw a glimmering of light on suspicions of the most painful nature. I had long seen that Lucy understood her brother's character better than any of us—much better, indeed, than his simple-minded father; and, as for myself, I was prepared to expect anything but consistency and principle in his conduct. Dearly as I prized Lucy, and by this time the slight competition that Emily Merton had presented to my fancy, had entirely given way to the dear creature's heart, and nature,—but, dearly as I prized Lucy, I would greatly have preferred that my sister should not marry her brother; and, so far from feeling resentment on account of his want of fidelity, I was rather disposed to rejoice at it. I could appreciate his want of merit, and his unfitness to be the husband of such a woman as Grace, even at my early age; but, alas! I could not appreciate the effects of his inconstancy on a heart like that of my sister. Could I have felt as easy on the subject of Mr. Andrew Drewett, and of my own precise position in society, I should have cared very little, just then, about Rupert, and his caprices.
The pearls for the ring were soon selected by Rupert, and approved of by Grace, after which I assumed the office of dividing the remainder myself. I drew a chair, took the box from Rupert, and set about the task.
“I shall make a faithful umpire, girls,” I observed, as pearl after pearl was laid, first on one spot, then on another—“for I feel no preference between you—Grace is as Lucy; Lucy is as Grace, with me.”
“That may be fortunate, Miss Hardinge, since it indicates no preference of a particular sort, that might require repressing,” said Emily, smiling significantly at Lucy. “When gentlemen treat young ladies as sisters, it is a subject of rejoicing. These sailors need severe lessons, to keep them within the rules of the land.”
Why this was said, I did not understand; but Rupert laughed at it, as if it were a capital thing. To mend the matter, he added, a little boisterously for him—
“You see, Miles, you had better have taken to the law—the ladies cannot appreciate the merits of you tars.”
“So it would seem,” I returned, a little drily, “after all Miss Merton has experienced and seen of the trade.”
Emily made no reply, but she regarded her pearls with a steadiness that showed she was thinking more of their effect than that of either her own speech or mine. I continued to divide the pearls, and soon had the work complete.
“What am I to do, now?”—I asked—“Will you draw lots, girls, or will you trust to my impartiality?”