“Adieu! Much pleasure,” she said with a little furtive smile to Elise, her uncle, and Vincent.
“Ridiculous,” muttered Uncle Daniel, when they were in the carriage. “Ridiculous! He won’t allow her to go to the ball, but he does not mind keeping her company. That is American fashion, I suppose. I, at least, would like to know which is more improper? To go with us to the ball, or to spend an evening alone with a young man? Ridiculous!”
Vincent said nothing. He thought it beneath him to defend his friend, but Elise quickly urged her husband to be silent. She would not permit him to speak ill of a cousin who was under his roof, and of a friend whom they saw so frequently. [[287]]
“Speak ill of him—oh dear, no!” resumed Uncle Daniel, still feeling hurt. “’Tis only American fashion, I suppose.”
Eline still felt her confusion.
“I don’t think uncle thought it right that I followed your advice,” she said, when they were alone. “Perhaps, too, he thought that—you should have gone with them.”
St. Clare looked at her in quiet surprise.
“Then why did he not say so? I asked him, did I not? But would you sooner have me go?”
“No, I should think it very kind of you if you stayed a little longer.”
“With pleasure! for there is something else that I would like to ask you, but it is not of such importance this time.”