Part 22 (2/2)
”But I must if I'm to explain my meaning to you, for he's the inevitable.”
”Now what _do_ you mean?--you're the most puzzling sort of grown-up person I ever met!”
”And you're the most intelligent sort of little person I ever met. Now let me explain matters to you. Your sister is very pretty, isn't she?”
”Pretty?” said Judy meditatively--”pretty is such a common sort of word--if you call flowers pretty, Hilda is, I suppose, but she's much, much more than pretty.”
”I understand. I'm quite sure I understand you perfectly. And your sister is good too, and sweet?”
”Oh, yes!” Judy's eyes filled with tears, she blinked her eyelashes and looked out of the window.
”Well, now,” said Rivers, and his voice was quite tender, for Judy's manner and att.i.tude touched him wonderfully. ”Well, now, you see it was inevitable that some man should love a woman like your sister, and want to make her his wife, and wish to take her altogether to himself. It was inevitable, also, that a woman with a gentle heart like Mrs. Quentyns should love this man in return and want to devote her life to him.”
”Don't!” said Judy, suddenly; ”I understand you now, I don't want you to say another word.” She crossed over to the window and stood there with her back to Rivers, looking gravely out.
Hilda came down in her rose-colored silk, and Rivers did not wonder that Judy thought of the flowers when she looked at her.
Hilda was unfeignedly glad to see him, and they had a pleasanter evening than any since Judy's advent in Philippa Terrace. Rivers paid a great deal of attention to the smallest and youngest member of the party, and not only completely won Hilda's heart by so doing, but induced Quentyns to look at his little sister-in-law with new eyes, and to discover for the first time, that under certain conditions that wistful little face could be both lovely and charming.
”Remember about the inevitable,” said Rivers, as he bade the child good-night.
”What did Mr. Rivers mean, Judy?” said Hilda. ”Oh, Judy, what flushed cheeks!--I did wrong to let you sit up, but you seemed so happy--you seemed to take such a fancy to Mr. Rivers.”
”He was disagreeable to me--very disagreeable,” said Judy, ”but I liked him.”
”And what did he mean by reminding you of the inevitable?” continued Hilda.
”It was in that way he was disagreeable,” replied Judy. ”I can't explain, Hilda darling; good-night--I am going to bed now.”
That evening, in their own room, Hilda came suddenly to her husband's side.
”Jasper, don't you think you might forget about it now?” she said timidly.
”Forget about what, Hilda?” He had been genial and pleasant until she began to speak; now his face stiffened in every outline, and the look came over it which always took poor Hilda's courage away.
”We were so happy to-night,” she began in a faltering voice--”we had quite the best evening we have had since----” here she hesitated.
”Since Judy came,” pursued Jasper. ”Yes, that goes without saying, there were four of us--even the dearest friends are dull when there are three, and of course Rivers is capital company, he's quite the best fellow all round I ever met.”
”Oh, yes!” said Hilda, a little impatiently, ”but I don't want to talk of him. Jasper dear, let us forget, let us--oh, let us be as we were before.”
Tears choked her voice, she turned her head away.
”I am so tired,” she said suddenly; ”I am the sort of girl who wants suns.h.i.+ne, I am so tired of being without it.”
”When you talk in that metaphorical style I fail to understand you,”
said Quentyns. ”There's not the least cloud between us that I am aware of, and if you are not in the suns.h.i.+ne, Hilda, I am afraid it is your own fault. I have done everything in my power to meet your wishes. You profess great love for me, and great love for your sister, and now you have us both, what can you possibly want besides?”
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