‘It was very kind of you to come,’ she said, giving him her hand; ‘and I am afraid you have not enjoyed it, Roger; but you will like them better when you see more of them.’ She said this as people say so many things, apologetic and otherwise, not because she wanted to apologise for the Merediths, but because she did not know very well what to say.
‘I don’t think I shall ever like them,’ said Roger; ‘but that does not matter. Cara, let me just say one word. I don’t think that they are the right kind of people—for you.’
‘For me!’ After the first astonishment Cara laughed. ‘I did not think you set up for being such a critic. What have they done to make you think ill of them? They have been very kind to you.’
‘I did not want their kindness,’ said Roger, hotly; ‘they are not the kind of people I like to see you with, Cara.’
‘I think I will say good-night,’ said Cara, with dignity. ‘It is cold here, and you have a long walk to Notting Hill. It is a pity you missed your train. Good-night.’
She did not so much as look at him, as she turned away and disappeared, the door closing behind her. He had offended her now to make an appropriate finish of this unhappy Sunday! But however cold it might have been to Cara, it was not cold to Roger as he pushed his way at a tremendous pace along the Sunday streets, so much darker than usual on account of the closed shops, and filled with passengers so different from the usual crowd. He would have kept himself warm in Siberia at that pace. His aunt was waiting for him, but half-disposed to give up her watch, and wondering what had become of him, as he thought she would.
‘I am very glad to have you for another night, Roger; but I thought you must have rushed off to catch the train without thinking of your portmanteau,’ she said; and then she gave him a glass of wine, half-proud, half-disappointed to hear that he had dined ‘with his fine friends,’ and sent him to bed with kind good-nights; for he had to start early in the morning, and, no doubt, she thought, the day had been fatiguing, though so pleasant. She was kinder than Cara; perhaps it would have been better for him if he had not gone to the Square at all, but contented himself with Notting Hill.
CHAPTER XVII.
EDWARD.
Cara had a visitor quite early next day, when she had just retired upstairs to the drawing-room after breakfast. It was Edward Meredith, who came with some message from his mother. He had been Cara’s friend when they were both children, though Oswald was the one who had claimed her intimacy since she grew up; and he had come now on a sort of investigation to see for himself whether his brother had taken his place. I think Cara, too, had a consciousness of Edward’s meaning, though neither of them could have put it into words; and no idea of love, properly so called, was in the minds of the boy and girl. To be sure, he was twenty-one, no longer legally a boy, and thought himself very much a man in many ways. He was aware that the little serious maiden, who had been the friend of his childhood, appeared very sweet and attractive to him now, and that he did not like Oswald to assume the privileged place by her, to be the one who talked with her and walked with her, and offered her those small services which it is often more pleasant to render than to receive. Edward was not jealous of his brother, but he had the suppressed consciousness of being placed at a disadvantage by Oswald, which is not very unusual in the mind of the younger of such a pair. Oswald had been, not above him, but a step in front of him all his life; he had what those who did not like him called more showy qualities, what those who did like him described as greater talents than Edward’s. He talked better, he was more ready in demonstration of his sentiments, and could always express himself—whether on paper or in speech—more fluently. These were real advantages; and to these, as was natural, the young man who felt himself to be second added others which were not so real. He thought Oswald’s verses, and literary pretensions, and gracefulness, and good looks were all infinitely superior to his own, and was apt to be depressed, and not to do himself justice in Oswald’s presence. It was a relief to find how late Oswald was, and that he could come in, early in the morning, to test Cara, and find out if all her friendliness had been transferred to his brother. If so, Edward would not grumble, but he would know what he had to expect, and would not look for anything more. When he had delivered his mother’s message, there was a little pause. They had both a little ingenuous awe of each other, and did not know how to begin.