“Oh, isn’t she?” cried Lilias’s sister gladly. “I knew you would say so. You see now how absurd it was to mistake me for her, and what a difference there is between us! I knew quite well you would be surprised.”
Gervase Vanburgh put back his head, and stared at her with a scrutiny which was not without a touch of cynicism; but the eager face he met was at once so frank and so honest, that the sneer faded from his lips and gave place to a smile.
“Yes,” he said slowly, “there is a great difference. I cannot imagine two people more unlike. You are complete contrasts in every respect.”
“She is so fair, and I am dark,” sighed Nan, a trifle abashed by so vehement an assent, but striving loyally to conceal her discomfiture. “Lilias is our beauty, and we are all very proud of her; but you cannot really know the family until you have met Maud. Maud is the eldest sister, and the best and sweetest of them all. She isn’t pretty, but she is such a dear that every one loves her. ‘Maud of all work’ Jim calls her, because she is always helping other people and forgetting herself.”
“Most exemplary, I’m sure. Excellent example!” drawled Gervase with a yawn, at the sound of which the last trace of Nan’s patience gave way. She stood still in the path and fixed him with a glittering eye; but the speech which swelled in her throat was slow in coming, choked back by very excess of emotion. Gervase, in some alarm, demanded the cause of her agitation, and received a straighter answer than he expected.
“I don’t care to speak about Maud to a person who only sneers at her goodness. If you don’t mind, I’d rather talk about the weather, and the garden, and things that don’t matter; and then I can keep as indifferent as you are yourself, and we sha’n’t quarrel.”
“I sneer! I beg a hundred pardons, Miss Nan, if I have appeared to sneer at anything you say; but I assure you that I have never yet voluntarily sneered at goodness; so that in this instance at least you are doing me an injustice. You must believe me, please, for I am thoroughly in earnest.”
“Yes, I see you are. I’m sorry that I misjudged you.”
“And I am sorry too. You are sorry, I am sorry, we are both sorry, so now suppose we drop this subject and start afresh. I’d like to be friends with you if you will; for I expect we shall see a good deal of each other in future, and it would distress my uncle if we disagreed. Do you think you could sign a treaty of friendship with me?”
“Well,” said Nan slowly—and then paused, too honest to pledge her word without counting the cost—“I could, but I’m not sure that it would last. We are so different. Would you mind answering one personal question?”