“She also mentioned, perhaps, that he was a highly-cultivated man?”
“She did.”
“Now we shall get on. When Philip came to our town here, and saw me for the first time—Do you object to my speaking familiarly of him, by his Christian name?”
“In the case of any one else in your position, Miss Helena, I should venture to call it bad taste.”
I was provoked into saying that. It failed entirely as a well-meant effort in the way of implied reproof. Miss Helena smiled.
“You grant me a liberty which you would not concede to another girl.” That was how she viewed it. “We are getting on better already. To return to what I was saying. When Philip first saw me—I have it from himself, mind—he felt that I should have been his choice, if he had met with me before he met with my sister. Do you blame him?”
“If you will take my advice,” I said, “you will not inquire too closely into my opinion of Mr. Philip Dunboyne.”
“Perhaps you don’t wish me to say anymore?” she suggested.
“On the contrary, pray go on, if you like.”
After that concession, she was amiability itself. “Oh, yes,” she assured me, “that’s easily done.” And she went on accordingly: “Philip having informed me of the state of his affections, I naturally followed his example. In fact, we exchanged confessions. Our marriage engagement followed as a matter of course. Do you blame me?”