"You know, Madge, that mamma is so much wrapped up in Sir Arthur, the ugly old bore, that she can listen to no one else, and for no other reason than to have you addressed as 'my lady.'"
"Oh Eve, do not say that."
"I will say it Madge, and more than that I will say that mamma has no more respect for her children's feeling than for those of her meanest servant. She would think it splendid to marry you to a gouty old baronet old enough to be your father, yes your grandfather, while I would not insist upon your favoring a handsome young man with wealth and a large heart into the bargain."
"Eve, you do mamma a great injustice," cried Marguerite, who be it said to her credit, always defended the absent one, "she already knows my feelings towards Sir Arthur and has used no coercion since and now that we are soon going home there is no need of referring to the affair."
Marguerite was annoyed and her sister saw that she had said enough, so with diplomatic tact, she became doubly tractable and tried to appear in sympathy with every word that the girl uttered.
"Are you going to accompany us to the opera this evening, Madge? My amiable husband, anxious to make reparation for past neglect, has formed a set and I must certainly go."
Marguerite was pained at her sister's composure and thought of the protestations of grief she had hitherto exhibited.
"Is it possible," thought she, "that Eve can dissemble so much?" Then turning to her sister she exclaimed: "Eve, I cannot go; I am miserable enough already and—"
"I see how it is, Madge, you are inclined to be selfish, and cannot bear to see the happiness of others."
"Happiness!" murmured the girl, "as if there is much happiness under all this false glittering surface." But Mrs. Arnold heeded not the remark and added: