“The minister has some reason, Euneece, for disapproving of Mr. Dunboyne; but, mind this, I don’t think he has a bad opinion of the young man himself. He is going to return Mr. Dunboyne’s call. Oh, I do so hate formality; I really can’t go on talking of Mr. Dunboyne. Tell me his Christian name. Ah, what a noble name! How I long to be useful to him! Tomorrow, my dear, after the one o’clock dinner, your papa will call on Philip, at his hotel. I hope he won’t be out, just at the wrong time.”
I resolved to prevent that unlucky accident by writing to Philip. If Miss Jillgall would have allowed it, I should have begun my letter at once. But she had more to say; and she was stronger than I was, and still kept me on her knee.
“It all looks bright enough so far, doesn’t it, dear sister? Will you let me be your second sister? I do so love you, Euneece. Thank you! thank you! But the gloomy side of the picture is to come next! The minister—no! now I am your sister I must call him papa; it makes me feel so young again! Well, then, papa has asked me to be your companion whenever you go out. ‘Euneece is too young and too attractive to be walking about this great town (in Helena’s absence) by herself.’ That was how he put it. Slyly enough, if one may say so of so good a man. And he used your sister (didn’t he?) as a kind of excuse. I wish your sister was as nice as you are. However, the point is, why am I to be your companion? Because, dear child, you and your young gentleman are not to make appointments and to meet each other alone. Oh, yes—that’s it! Your father is quite willing to return Philip’s call; he proposes (as a matter of civility to Mrs. Staveley) to ask Philip to dinner; but, mark my words, he doesn’t mean to let Philip have you for his wife.”
I jumped off her lap; it was horrible to hear her. “Oh,” I said, “can you be right about it?” Miss Jillgall jumped up too. She has foreign ways of shrugging her shoulders and making signs with her hands. On this occasion she laid both hands on the upper part of her dress, just below her throat, and mysteriously shook her head.
“When my views are directed by my affections,” she assured me, “I never see wrong. My bosom is my strong point.”
She has no bosom, poor soul—but I understood what she meant. It failed to have any soothing effect on my feelings. I felt grieved and angry and puzzled, all in one. Miss Jillgall stood looking at me, with her hands still on the place where her bosom was supposed to be. She made my temper hotter than ever.
“I mean to marry Philip,” I said.
“Certainly, my dear Euneece. But please don’t be so fierce about it.”
“If my father does really object to my marriage,” I went on, “it must be because he dislikes Philip. There can be no other reason.”
“Oh, yes, dear—there can.”