"He went somewhere with some friends, fishing; they came across some girl, and Gordon, of course, as usual, was immediately captivated with her pretty face; he only knew her a week, when, to use Whitehead's words,
'In short she blushed, she looked consent,
He grasped her hand, to church they went.'
And Gordon is lost to us all forever and aye." Arial is hardly prepared to see Rea take her words so coolly.
"And so he has been and gone and done it? May every happiness follow him and his pretty wife, whoever she be," are Rea's gracious words.
"I should not like to be her; in a week he will tire of her. You know he is not one of the constant sort." Mrs. St. James shrugs those beautiful shoulders of hers. She is really quite disgusted at Gordon's lack of taste. A girl with no education whatever, and in those days, too, when every person has a chance to learn, if they so please. She hopes he will repent, and that bitterly, in the bargain.
"Such a nice fellow young Lord Streathmere has become; they say his mother and he, accompanied by Sir Barry Traleigh, were at the ball last night. Sir Barry gets nicer every day; what a pity he does not marry."
Sister Jean's spool of thread falls on the floor: she stoops to pick it up and then glides from the room. This is the first time sister Jean heard of Lord Streathmere, but her heart beats with grateful affection at the mention of Sir Barry Traleigh.
"I cannot understand how you can have that girl here, Rea; she would give me the chills to have her gliding so noiselessly around. Another thing, you are nearly well now; I don't see why you need her any longer."
The clouds are breaking away, the storm is over, and a glimmer of sunlight, peeping from a rift in the sky, falls on Rea's pale face, and lights up the tired eyes.
"What makes you so prejudiced against her, Arial?" she asks, looking at Mrs. St. James' cold, handsome face.