“Tired and lonesome, Bid?” she asked.
“No; Mr. Carey has been here, and we’ve been talking.”
“What about?”
“Oh, most things. We’ve discovered that our respective grandparents were in love with one another. Isn’t that thrilling?” She gave a rapid little sketch of the discovery.
Helen looked gravely into the fire, and was silent.
Bridget laughed. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said, with a malicious flash of her eyes.
“What?”
“That history repeats itself, and that I shall fall in love with Mr. Carey.”
Helen looked a trifle disconcerted. “You are a trying person, Bid,” she returned, after a moment. “You always were an enfant terrible. You’ve preserved most of your aggravating school-girl habits, and added to them grown-up ones which are ten times worse. Do you always say just what comes into your head, if it happens to be true?”
“No, very seldom,” Bridget returned, calmly. “For the last few years I’ve said everything that came into my head that happened to be false. It was required of me, and I soon learnt the trick. Ah, no, you needn’t be afraid. I am sick of love!” She made a hasty gesture with her hands, as of flinging something from her. There was a pause.