‘No—but I have nothing to interest me. I feel always as if I was hungry for something I could not get. Why should I have “Don Giovanni,” and “Figaro,” and the “Barber of Seville” on my music-stand, and strum at them? I want to see them, and hear them alive, acting, singing, particularly amid lights and scenery, and in proper costume. I cannot bear this dull existence any longer. If Doctor Squash will take me to a theatre or an opera I’ll marry him, just for that alone—that is my last word.’
Barbara was accustomed to hear Eve talk extravagantly, and had not been accustomed to lay much weight on what she said; but this was spoken so vehemently, and was so prodigiously extravagant, that Barbara could only loosen her hold of her sister, draw back to the far end of the sofa, and stare at her dismayedly. In her present state of distress about Eve she thought more seriously of Eve’s words than they deserved. Eve was angry, discontented, and said what came uppermost, so as to annoy her sister.
‘Eve dear,’ said Barbara gravely, ‘I pray you not to talk in this manner, as if you had said good-bye to all right principle and sound sense. Mr. Coyshe is downstairs. We must decide on an answer, and that a definite one.’
‘We!’ repeated Eve; ‘I suppose it concerns me only.’
‘What concerns you concerns me; you know that very well, Eve.’
‘I am not at liberty, I suppose, to choose for myself?’
‘You are a dear good girl, who will elect what is most pleasing to your father and sister, and promises greatest happiness to yourself.’
Eve sat pouting and playing with the ends of her apron. Then she took one end which she had twisted into a horn, and put it between her pearly teeth, whilst she looked furtively and mischievously at her sister, who sat with her hands on her lap, tapping the floor with her feet.
‘Barbie!’ said Eve slily.