Part 22 (2/2)
BASIL'S OPINION.
At half-past eleven that day, Ermengarde found Basil waiting for her in the shrubbery. He was walking up and down, whistling to himself, and now and then turning round to say a pleasant word to a small white kitten who sat on his shoulder and purred. Basil was devoted to animals, and this kitten was a special favorite.
As Ermengarde advanced slowly through the trees to meet her brother, she saw this little scene, and a very bitter feeling came over her.
”He can be kind to everyone but me,” she thought. ”Even a stupid tiresome little cat can win kind glances from him. But I'm not going to let him see that I care. If he expects perfection in me, the sooner he is undeceived the better. And as for me, I suppose I can do without his affection, if he won't give it.”
Busy with these thoughts, Ermie's face wore its most stubborn expression as she approached her brother. The moment Basil saw her, he whisked the kitten off his shoulder, and came up to her side.
”I have thought it all out, Ermengarde,” he said, ”and I have made up my mind what to do.”
Ermengarde did not speak. She raised her eyes to Basil's face. There was entreaty in them, but he would not fully meet her glance.
”There is no use in my going over the thing with you,” continued Basil. ”If you could do it, no words of mine could make you see your conduct in its true light. Besides, I am not the one to preach to you.
I am only a year older, and, as you reminded me last night, I have no sort of authority over you.”
”Forget what I said last night!” pleaded Ermengarde.
”No, that is just the point. I can't forget--I shall never forget. The old relations between us are over, and as far as I am concerned it is impossible to restore them.”
”Oh, Basil, you kill me when you speak so unkindly.”
Ermengarde covered her face; her slight form was shaken by sobs.
”I am sorry,” he said; ”I cannot imagine why you value my regard, for we have quite different codes of honor; we look at things from totally different standpoints. I don't want to hold myself up, but I couldn't act as you have done, Ermengarde.”
”Oh, Basil, if you only would be merciful.”
Basil felt a growing sense of irritation.
”Will you stop crying, and listen to me?” he said.
Ermengarde managed, with a great effort, to raise her tear-stained face.
”You imagine that I have no feeling for you,” continued Basil. ”You are mistaken; I have, I used to put you on a pedestal. Of course you have come down from that, but still I don't forget that you are my sister, and as far as possible I intend to s.h.i.+eld you. The discovery that I made last night shall not pa.s.s my lips. Miss Nelson must certainly get back the broken miniature of her little sister, but I am not going to tell her how it came into my possession. That's all--I'll s.h.i.+eld you. You can go now.”
Ermengarde would have pleaded still further, but Basil at that moment heard some one calling him, and ran off, uttering boyish shouts as he did so.
”He doesn't care a bit,” muttered Ermie. She turned and walked back to the house.
For a time she felt stunned and sore; life scarcely seemed worth living out of the suns.h.i.+ne of Basil's favor. But after a time less worthy thoughts took possession of her, and she felt a sense of relief that the adventure of last night would never be known.
Marjorie came dancing down from the house to meet her sister.
”What _do_ you think, Ermie? I'm to go away to-morrow for a whole delicious week with father and Basil! We are going to the Russells'--Basil has just told me. Isn't it perfectly, perfectly splendid!”
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