“Roy will not marry till spring.”
And she believed the latter, because she wanted to, and saying to herself, “I shall stay till Georgie comes, for Mrs. Churchill’s sake,” she opened Roy’s letter, and read the kind, brotherly message he had written to his “dear sister Edna, whom he wished so much to find.” There were hot blushes on Edna’s cheeks, and she felt a heart throb of pain as she began to read, in Roy’s own words, of his engagement to Georgie Burton. She had known it all before, it is true, and had seen his betrothed almost every day, and received, each time she saw her, some little malicious stab through the medium of Edna Browning. She had also been witness, at divers times, to various little love-passages between the engaged pair, or rather of love-passages on Georgie’s part, for that young lady was not at all backward in asserting her right to fondle and caress her promised husband, who was not demonstrative, and who never of his own accord so much as took Georgie’s hand in his own, or laid a finger on her in the presence of others. He merely submitted to her fondlings in silence and did not shake her off, though Edna sometimes fancied he wanted to do so, when she hung so helplessly upon him, or put her arm around his neck, and smoothed and caressed his hair, and called him “Roy dear.” How he demeaned himself toward her when they were alone Edna did not know, but seeing him always so quiet and reserved, she had never realized that he was engaged as fully as she did when she saw it in his own handwriting, and two burning tears rolled down her cheeks and were impatiently dashed away as she read:
“And now, my little sister, I have something to communicate which may surprise you, but which I hope will please you, inasmuch as I trust it may have a direct bearing upon your future. I am engaged to be married to the Miss Georgie Burton who was so kind to you and poor Charlie in Iona. She is very nice, of course, and the most beautiful woman I have ever met, unless it be a Miss Overton who is here as companion for mother.”
Edna’s face and neck were scarlet now, and there was a throb of ecstasy in her heart, as she read on:
“This Miss Overton is not at all like Georgie, but quite as beautiful, I think, and both mother and myself like her immensely. She is nineteen, I believe, but a wee little creature, with the roundest, sauciest eyes, the softest golden brown hair rippling all over her head, and the sweetest, most innocent face, while her smile is something wonderful. Maude Somerton, whom I wish you knew, calls her Dotty, but to myself I call her ‘Brownie,’ her eyes and hair are such a pretty brown, just tinged with golden, and her complexion, though smooth and soft, and very bright, is still a little brownish.”
“A pretty way to talk about me, and he engaged to Georgie,” Edna said, but not impatiently.
Indeed, she would have been well satisfied to have read Roy’s praises of herself for the entire day, and felt a little annoyed when he turned from Miss Overton’s beauty, to his plan of having his sister at Leighton as soon as Georgie came, and begged her to tell him where she was, that he might come for her himself.
“Mother wants you,” he wrote, “and surely for Charlie’s sake you will heed her wishes.”
Edna wished she could believe that Mrs. Churchill would love her when she knew who she was, but after Georgie’s insinuations she could not hope to be esteemed by either Roy or his mother.
“They would hate and despise me,” she said, “so I shall not let them know that Edna was ever here, and my easier way will be not to answer Roy’s letter, now or ever; I cannot tell him I am rejoiced at his engagement, for I am not. I don’t like her; I never shall like her; I almost think I hate her, or should if it were not so very wicked,” and Edna’s boot-heels dug into the carpet as she gave vent to this amiable outburst.