“But, Freddie,” Lili gently remonstrated, “he has known her so long; all the time she has been living at the van Raats’; and if he really cares for her——”
“Oh, there’s nothing I should desire more, than that all may go well, and they may be happy. But I can’t help it. Eline I cannot bear. Of course now I force myself to be nice and friendly to her; but you know it is so difficult for me to make myself appear different from what I am. But come, let us talk about something else; it can’t be helped now, and the less I think of it the better. Shall we go up-stairs to Marie?”
Lili agreed, and they went. In the girls’ sitting-room Marie was seated at a little writing-table; a few sheets of writing lay before her, but her head was resting on her hand, and with her pen she was, as if lost in thought, drawing some strokes across a blank sheet of paper. When Freddie and Lili entered, she gave a sudden start.
“We have come to disturb you in your busy occupations,” commenced Freddie, laughing; “that is, unless you would rather have us go.”
“Certainly not; you know better, don’t you? So unsociable too of Lili, to sit down all by herself, down-stairs.”
Lili did not answer; neither of them was in the habit of staying in her room in the afternoon, and it was Marie herself who was unsociable.
“What is it you are writing? is it a secret?” asked Freddie, with a glance at the scribbled sheets.
“Oh no,” answered Marie, with seeming indifference. “’Tis [[158]]something I started long ago—a sort of diary, a description of our trip in Thuringia and the Black Forest last year. I wanted to make up a little sketch about it, something romantic if possible, but ’tis getting tiresome. I really don’t know what made me start it,” she added softly; “I’m not cut out for writing, eh?”
“I can’t say,” said Freddie encouragingly. “Just read us a little of it.”
“Yes; fancy boring you with my school-girl scribble. Pas si bête,” cried Marie laughing. “You see, a person must do something; I felt bored, so I started writing. I’ll tell you what it is, Frédérique,” she continued, with a tragic-comic glance at her friend, “I think we are growing so old. Yes, downright old; we are getting tiresome. Do you know, ’tis months since we had a good laugh together, as we used to so often.”