“I am not disparaging Betty, and I have often wished our parents were not at outs, so that she and I might be better friends; we only meet at your house or places of entertainment. But, Joscelyn, you know—you must know what we all have hoped for you and Eustace.”
Joscelyn turned her eyes fully and calmly upon her companion. “Yes, I know. I should have been even duller than you pronounced me just now not to see through your plan. Diplomacy is not your forte.”
“You knew I—we all wanted you to marry—”
“Eustace? Yes; he and I have often laughed over it to each other. And now that you have mentioned it, I want to tell you frankly that there is not the faintest possibility of such a thing. As a friend Eustace is charming; but as a husband—”
“Don’t! Your mouth looks as if you had bitten a green persimmon.”
“Well, I think with Eustace as a husband life would be all green persimmons, without any prunes or prisms to break the monotony. It would be quite as bad on him as on me; you would make us both utterly miserable.”
“I cannot believe it. I know Eustace looks at Betty with the utmost admiration, and manages often to meet her; but ’tis much the same way with every pretty girl,—he must be saying sweet things to each of them. But in his heart I feel sure he prefers you above all the rest, only your indifference holds him aloof. Here is a letter I had this morning, in which he devotes a whole page to happy imaginings about a soldier’s welcome home when the war shall be over. He grows really poetic about shy eyes and the joy of holding a white hand in his. Whom can he mean but you?”
“Betty has shy eyes, and Janet has the whitest hands I know anywhere. As you said, Eustace has a roving fancy.”
Mary sighed. “I intended to read the letter to you, but here we are at the bridge, and we will now be meeting so many people.”