Frances put her arms about her sister’s neck, kissed her, and bade her good night. Julia returned the good night with equal kindness, as was their custom. She was again silent. At last the blaze went out, and the room became nearly dark.
“What—was that—you were saying—to me—when we were dressing for dinner, Frances—about—about Edmund, you know?”
“What!—What?”—said Frances, with a start, for she had just dropped asleep.
“What—was it you were saying—I say—before dinner, you know?”
“Saying! About what?”
“About—about Edmund, you know.”
“What about Edmund?”
“Oh, you know, about him and Lady Susan, you know.”
“Oh, about their going to be married!” said Frances, rousing herself to enter fully, as it were, into the amusing subject; then, with animation, and a voice of confidence, she continued, “I really think it will take place; and he is certainly very fortunate; for she has a cheerful, happy temper, and her affection for him is truly generous and disinterested!” The darkness covered Julia’s changing colour, and her starting tears, also, which she now gulped down, as she replied, “Her affection indeed! What can her affection be, in comparison of those who have loved him always!”
“Do you mean any one in particular?” asked Frances.