“Because you did not ask me at the same time. A month ago it was impossible for me to get away, and even now I am here for three days only. I don’t wish to appear unfriendly, Rosalind, but—”
“But you feel it,” replied Rosalind, her voice changing suddenly into a note of honest pathos. “Oh yes, Mawiquita, you are no better at pwetending than you used to be, and I know quite well that you don’t appwove of me. I hate myself too, and twy to be diffewent, but it is no use, circumstances are too stwong for me. But it’s not the way to make me better, Peggy Saville, to toss your head at me, and tweat me as if I were beyond all hope of reformation.”
“Rosalind—oh!” Peggy was breathless with consternation. It was a horrible accusation, and the worst of it was that conscience told her that it was true. She stared with penitent eyes into the accusing face, nodded her head once or twice, and said with conviction:
“I’m a little wretch! Who am I, I should like to know, to judge another girl? Dear old Rosalind, snub me all you can, and take no notice of my airs. I’m not good enough to help you, I’m afraid, but I can’t help loving you, you dear, beautiful thing, and wishing to make you happy!”
“But, oh, Peggy, I’m misewable! I’m abjectly misewable!” sighed Rosalind in return. She gave a glance around, to make sure no one was within ear-shot, and then continued rapidly, “All my life long I’ve been bwought up to look forward to this time, and to work and plan and pwepare for it. Mother talked as if it would repay me for all my pains, but I’ve been out thwee seasons now, and I’m tired to death of the everlasting wound. I get so cross and irritated and weary of it all. I don’t think I have ever been so misewable in my life as duwing the last year!”
Peggy looked at her thoughtfully. At the moment Rosalind looked dismal enough, but recalling the occasions when she had seen her in society, Peggy could not honestly say that “wretched” was the word which best described her demeanour. On the contrary, a most well-satisfied and complacent young woman had she appeared, and Miss Peggy shrewdly suspected that the present distaste was but a transient emotion.
“If you are so tired of it, why don’t you go down to the country, or join your mother abroad?” she inquired with a stern directness which her companion found somewhat embarrassing.
She shrugged her shoulders and gave a little impatient laugh.
“Because I should like that worse! I am bored to distwaction in the countwy, and poor dear mother would worry herself to death if I left town just now. She is as ambitious as ever, and will be tewwibly disappointed if I don’t make a bewilliant match before the end of the season. She is expecting the news of my engagement by evewy letter, and is working herself up to a fever of anxiety as the time goes by—”
“And is there—is there some one in particular whom she expects you to marry?” queried Peggy calmly. Her heart had given a throb of nervousness at the introduction of the subject, and she had instinctively lifted her eyes to glance at the handsome figure a few yards ahead, but her pride would not allow her to show her discomfiture. No one would have suspected that a personal interest lay behind the nonchalant question.