"In a general way, no."
He looked disappointed.
"Why don't you like diamonds, pearls, and rubies?" he observed, with smiling reproach, "that I might have the pleasure of thinking—cannot give them to her now, but I shall earn them for her some day."
"Yes, it is a pity," she replied, with gentle irony, "but I have a quarrel with you: why have you forgotten your sister?"
"Forgotten Kate! she never wears jewels, Miriam."
She did not reply. He remained by her awhile longer, then set to work.
It was very kind of Cornelius to have made me this present, and yet it only irritated the secret jealousy it was meant to soothe. He had given the two bracelets so differently. They were of equal value, perhaps of equal beauty; but she had had the choice of the two; the rejected one had been for me. He had scarcely placed mine before me, and fastened hers on himself with lingering tenderness. He had carelessly heard or heeded my murmured thanks; she had not thanked him, yet he had looked charmed because she negligently approved his gift. In short, in the very thing which he had intended to please me, Cornelius had unconsciously betrayed the strong and natural preference that was my sole, my only true torment. His gift had lost its grace. I put on the bracelet, looked at it on my arm, then put it away again in its case, and read whilst she sat and he painted.
Towards noon she left us for an hour. Cornelius followed her out on the landing; he had left the door ajar, and, involuntarily. I overheard the close of their whispered conference. It referred to me. Cornelius was asking if I did not look very pale. I had been rather poorly of late, and he was kindly anxious about me.
"To me she looks the same as usual," quietly answered Miriam: "she always is sallow, and being so plain makes her look ill."
"Why, that is true," replied Cornelius, seemingly comforted by this reasoning.