“Oh no,” he replied, recollecting himself with a little start, “she is living. But I am in great anxiety about her just now. She is soon to undergo a very serious—very, very serious operation on her eyes. And we shall not know for months if it is successful. I am very foolish, I daresay, but I can scarcely bear to speak of it. I had a letter this morning—my poor Angey.”
“I am so sorry,” said Imogen softly. “What is her name?” she added. “I should like to think of her by it. Is it Angela?”
“Not quite. It is even more fantastic. It is Evangeline. Eva some people call her, but her home name has always been Angey. Evangeline is too much of a good thing in the way of names.”
“It is very pretty. And ‘Eva’ is very pretty,” said Imogen, simply.
Major Winchester smiled.
“Yes, ‘Eva’ is very nice,” he said. “Of course, it is the diminutive of other names as well as my sister’s.” Then he seemed to wish to change the subject. “Don’t think me impertinent, Miss Wentworth, apropos of what you were saying about having a ‘decided character.’ Young people—very young people especially,” and here he gave a slightly deprecating smile—“often make a mistake between impulsiveness and self-will and decision of character, much in the same way that obstinacy and firmness are often confused.”
“I am not so very young, Major Winchester,” Imogen returned, much more irate, evidently, at the reflection on her youth than at the other suggestion. “I am eighteen past, and I don’t think I am particularly self-willed; at least, I don’t mean to be. Mamma and I generally wish the same things. And when you live with a person who can’t make up their mind, and you have to decide, that isn’t being impulsive.”
“No, certainly not,” he agreed.
“Besides,” she went on, “sometimes I have to give in very much against my own will. As about coming here,” and she related the history of the “breaking the journey,” which had led to such uncomfortable results.
Rex listened with considerable amusement.