She hardly knew what to make of Edna’s speech; it was not exactly flippant, but it seemed so strange to hear so young a creature speak in that cool, matter-of-fact way.
“I don’t see how people are to get on together, if they do not think alike,” she observed, in a perplexed voice; but Edna only laughed.
“I am afraid we don’t get on. Mother says she never saw such a couple; that we are always quarrelling and making up like two children; but I put it to you, Miss Lambert, how are things to be better? I am used to my own way, and Mr. Sinclair is used to his. I like fun and plenty of change, and dread nothing so much as being bored—ennuyée, in fact, and he is all for quiet. Then he is terribly clever, and has every sort of knowledge at his fingers’ end. He is a barrister, and rising in his profession, and I seldom open a book unless it be a novel.”
“I wonder why he chose you,” observed Bessie naïvely, and Edna seemed much amused by her frankness.
“Oh, how deliciously downright you are, Miss Lambert. Well, do you know I have not the faintest notion why Neville asked me to marry him, any more than I know why I listened to him. I tell him sometimes that it was the most ridiculous mistake in the world, and that either he or I, or both of us, must have been bewitched. I am really very sorry for him sometimes; I do make him so unhappy; and sometimes I am sorry for myself. But there, the whole thing is beyond my comprehension. If I could alter myself or alter Neville, things would be more comfortable and less unpleasantly exciting.” And here Edna laughed again, and then stifled another yawn; and this time Bessie declared she would not stop a moment longer. Christine would be asleep.
“Well, perhaps I should only talk nonsense if you remained, and I can see you are easily shocked, so I will allow you to wish me good-night.” But, to Bessie’s surprise, Edna kissed her affectionately.
“You have been a Good Samaritan to me,” she said quietly, “and I am really very grateful.” And Bessie withdrew, touched by the unexpected caress.
“What a strange mixture she is!” she thought, as she softly closed the door. “I think she must have been badly brought up; perhaps her mother has spoiled her. I fancy she is affectionate by nature, but she is worldly, and cares too much for pleasure; anyhow, one cannot help being interested in her.” But here she broke off abruptly as she passed a half-opened door, and a voice from within summoned her.
“Oh, Hatty, you naughty child, are you awake? Do you know it is nearly twelve o’clock?”
“What does that matter?” returned Hatty fretfully, as Bessie groped her way carefully toward the bed. “I could not sleep until you had said good-night to me. I suppose you had forgotten me; you never thought I was lying here waiting for you, while you were talking to Miss Sefton.”