He paused, somewhat tired of his long whispering.
“Has he so much sympathy for you?” said Eline softly. “How curious! I do not know him, of course; but I should say that his character is entirely in contrast with yours.”
“So it is. You are right. Perhaps it is for that very reason that he likes me; at all events, he is always declaring that I am much better than others think me, and than I even think myself.”
“Perhaps he finds you interesting as Elise finds me,” said Eline, with an involuntary sly little laugh. But now that she saw St. Clare approaching, she felt some self-reproach, as though she had wronged him. How could she compare the proud, manly truth that beamed from him with Elise’s airy coldness?
Elise was very busy serving out her liqueurs, and she asked Vincent whether he drank Kirsch or Curaçao, or whether he perhaps preferred cognac. Vincent sat down by the fire, beside her and Uncle Daniel, while St. Clare seated himself by the window next to Eline.
“And you are the nice little cousin, then, of whom Vincent has told me so much? The little cousin who nursed him so well?” he asked with a smile, as he placed his hands in his pockets, and with his clear, frank eyes looked penetratingly into Eline’s.
“Yes, I am the cousin who nursed him,” she answered in French. She spoke very good English, but his French pleased her, so that she did not ask him whether he preferred speaking English.
“That was at the Hague, was it not?”
“Yes, at the Hague. He was then staying at my brother-in-law’s.”
“And you were also staying with your brother-in-law, were you not?”