I only put her hand away from me, and advised her to return to her chair. This perfectly harmless proceeding seemed absolutely to frighten her.
“Oh, my dear,” she burst out, “surely you are not jealous of me?”
There was but one possible reply to this: I laughed at it. Is Eunice’s head turned? She kissed me!
“Now you laugh,” she said, “I begin to understand you again; I ought to have known that you are superior to jealousy. But, do tell me, would it be so very wonderful if other girls found something to envy in my good luck? Just think of it! Such a handsome man, such an agreeable man, such a clever man, such a rich man—and, not the least of his merits, by-the-by, a man who admires You. Come! if you won’t congratulate me, congratulate yourself on having such a brother-in-law in prospect!”
Her head was turned. I drew the poor soul’s attention compassionately to what I had said a moment since.
“Pardon me, dear, for reminding you that I have not yet refused to offer my congratulations. I only told you I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“Waiting, of course, to hear what my father thinks of your wonderful good luck.”
This explanation, offered with the kindest intentions, produced another change in my very variable sister. I had extinguished her good spirits as I might have extinguished a light. She sat down by me, and sighed in the saddest manner. The heart must be hard indeed which can resist the distress of a person who is dear to us. I put my arm round her; she was becoming once more the Eunice whom I so dearly loved.
“My poor child,” I said, “don’t distress yourself by speaking of it; I understand. Your father objects to your marrying Mr. Dunboyne.”