“I am glad to hear you say that,” he said eagerly; “but Mad—”
“Oh, for that matter,” Ella went on, “I don’t mean to say that practically Madelene is not good to me too. But—it is she who is prejudiced it seems to me,” she added with rather a wintry smile; “she does not judge me fairly. I don’t understand her, nor she me—that is the truth of it, I suppose. I don’t think she has ever been young, or had young feelings. She is so frightfully cold and measured, and she thinks every one should see things precisely as she does.”
Philip smiled too, but in his smile there was little more mirth than in Ella’s.
“Madelene cold and unfeeling!” he exclaimed. “My dear child, how little you know her! I allow,” he went on hastily, noticing an expression on her face which irresistibly reminded him of the days when she used to stamp her feet at “big Phil” if he refused to gallop about with her as much as she wanted, “I allow that Madelene’s manner is often against her. Very often the very extent and depth of her feeling makes her seem colder from the effort she puts on herself to be self-controlled.”
“That’s what is always said of cold, stiff, reserved people,” Ella answered. “Just because you can’t see or feel their feelings you are told to believe in them doubly! I hate reserved people.”
Philip was a little taken aback.
“I think they are rather to be pitied,” he said quietly.
The words were not without their effect on Ella, but she would not show it.
“You—” she began, but a little quaver in her voice made her hesitate, “you won’t make me like Madelene any better for taking her part against me,” she said with a sort of incipient sob.
Philip laid his hand on her pretty white arm. “Dear Ella,” he said with genuine distress in his voice, “how can you mistake me so? If you only understood better! My only wish is that you should not make yourself unhappy when there is no need for it.”