‘I should think a sister was only an additional anxiety,’ I replied.
‘True; but still there’s a selfish comfort in the thought that somebody cares for you. At least, I like it. I’m a sentimental sort of animal, who likes being petted—not a calm, self-contained creature like you.’
I doubt if I deserved Atherton’s epithets. I felt very lonely at times, and the boy’s affection—for he was sincerely attached to me, and had a refreshing un-English readiness to display his attachment—was charming. I told him more of my history and feelings than I had ever before confided to any one; for he was as sympathetic as a woman, while possessing a discretion reputed to be rare among feminine creatures.
In truth I was greatly attached to Gerald, and I was quite distressed this afternoon at the thought of being late for my engagement with him. It was his birthday, and we were to take tea together at his lodgings, and then go to the theatre, and I feared that my delay might interfere with our plans.
But it was another and more cheerful accident than that of being late that was to prevent our occupying the pit at the Lyceum that night. I had expected to see Gerald’s face looking for me from the window of his sitting-room, as I approached the little street with the long name—Mount Edgcumbe Terrace—where he resided; but I was surprised, and for the moment bewildered, to find two faces gazing with interest at my approaching figure—two faces so alike in feature and colouring, that though a moment’s reflection convinced me that they must belong to Gerald Atherton and his twin-sister, I could not have said which of them was my friend’s. Each had the same bright, laughing, dark-blue eyes, the same short, curling, dark-brown hair, the same contour and expression, and at this moment the same merry and mischievous smile. I thought I had never in my life seen a prettier sight than these two joyous, youthful figures standing side by side.
‘Confess, Langham, that you didn’t know which was who, when you saw us just now,’ cried Gerald as I entered the room.
I admitted that I had been puzzled for the moment; ‘though,’ I added, ‘I am sure that a longer glimpse would have enabled me to distinguish Miss Atherton from you.’
‘Yes,’ returned Gerald, ‘I know that my poor little sister is only a plain-looking likeness of my bewitching self, that could not deceive any one for more than a moment.’
Miss Atherton made a little moue of protest at her brother as she said: ‘Mr Langham only means that the stool on which I was standing, to make me look as tall as you, was so shaky, that I shouldn’t have been able to keep on it a minute longer.’
Then I tried again to utter a complimentary remark, which Gerald again appropriated, whereupon we all laughed and were friends at once.