This evening Clara remembered long after, as the happiest in her life. The bright moon shone through the climbing foliage on the veranda, carpeting the floor with soft mosaic patterns, through which the “mated footsteps” of the lovers passed and repassed, talking in low tones of the beauty of the scene, at intervals, when time could be spared from the dearer theme of their perfections in each other’s eyes, and the future that, before them,
——“like a fruitful land reposed.”
Of course, they took no note of time, and Miss Marston, after talking some time with Mrs. Forest, went quietly to her room. Leila fidgeted about for awhile, and then exclaimed, crossly:
“I don’t see why they wish to moon out there all night.”
“Why, Leila!” said Mrs. Forest, reproachfully. “I see nothing improper in their enjoying each other’s society, and you should not speak in that way.”
“She’s jealous,” remarked Linnie.
“You mean thing! I’m not,” Leila answered, in a high key, and then they went to bed to fight it out in the ordinary sisterly way; and I take it that sisters can be as caustic and insolently mean in their treatment of each other as any kindred under the sun. In this case, however, Linnie was really fond of her sister, and would have manifested it quite lavishly by way of petting, but for being discouraged and called “spooney” by Leila whenever she attempted any expression of sentiment.
Mrs. Forest waited awhile after the twins were gone, and then went to the veranda and gave the lovers some friendly caution about the night air. This duty discharged, and hearing her husband enter his sleeping-room, she joined him there. He was very glad to see her, for he wished to broach the subject of Susie’s condition, a task requiring considerable diplomacy, for he knew Mrs. Forest would naturally be merciless to one like Susie. But the doctor in his diplomacy, as Clara said, did very well until he came to the diplomatic part, and then he lost the first requisite, patience. He greeted Mrs. Forest very pleasantly, and told her she never looked lovelier in her life.
“Ah! dear,” she answered, “it is very sweet to hear you say so, but”—and she viewed herself composedly in the mirror of the doctor’s wardrobe—“this glass shows me my wrinkles and my gray hair.”
“Well, your hair is beautiful, and I like these little crows’-feet at the corners of your eyes; but this is not what makes your beauty in my eyes—” and he came beside her, and put his arm around her—“it is the softness and tenderness of expression in your face. You did not have this as a girl.” Here was possibly the approach to the needed diplomacy.