Una held out her hands entreatingly.
"Hush, Edith, don't scold me so," she begged, with quivering lips; but she did not utter a word in her own defense. She was too wretched and heart-sick, feeling that Eliot's fault, his persistent avoidance of his wife, need not be held up to his sister's condemnation.
"Far rather would I shield him by letting the blame rest wholly upon myself," she resolved, firmly.
[CHAPTER XXXV.]
Sylvie pretended to be very anxious that day over the appearance her sisters-in-law would make at the theater-party.
"Have you anything new?" she inquired. "Because I have invited several young ladies and gentlemen, and ordered a supper here after the performance at the theater. Of course, I want you all to do credit to Bryant."
"We haven't a new thing," declared Edith, lugubriously. "You and Ida will have to uphold the honor of the family by your elegant dressing, for Maud and I will be sure to look like dowdies."
Mme. Sylvie did not seem to take the information much to heart. She said carelessly:
"And Eliot's wife?"