Part 34 (2/2)
”Because the fates are against us. Not,” quickly, ”that _that_ so much matters: I don't want to marry _anybody_! But--but,” lowering her lids, ”I do want him to _love_ me.”
”My dear child, talk sense if you talk at all,” says the material Kit.
”There never yet was a heroine in any novel ever read by me (and I have had a large experience) who didn't want to marry the man of her heart.
Now just look at that girl of Rhoda Broughton's, in 'Good-by, Sweetheart!' We can all see she didn't die of any disease, but simply because she couldn't be wedded to the man she loved. _There's_ a girl for you! give _me_ a girl like that. If ever I fall in love with a man, and I find I can't marry him, I shall make a point of dying of grief. It is so graceful; just like what I have heard of Irving and Ellen Terry--I mean, Romeo and Juliet!”
”But I can't bear to deceive Aunt Priscilla,” says Monica. ”She is so kind, so good.”
”Stuff and nonsense!” says Kit promptly. ”Do you suppose, when Aunt Priscilla was young, she would have deserted--let us say--Mr. Desmond the elder, at the beck and call of any one? She has too much spirit, to do her credit. Though I must say her spirit is rather out of place now, at times.”
”What would you have me do, then?” asks Monica, desperately.
”Oh, nothing,” says Kit, airily,--”really _nothing_. I am too young, of course, to give advice,” with a little vicious toss of her small head.
”And of course, too, I know nothing of the world's ways,” with another toss, that conveys to her auditor the idea that she believes herself thoroughly versed and skilled in society's lore, but that as yet she is misunderstood. ”And it is not my place, of course, to dictate to an elder sister.” This severely, and evidently intended as a slap at Monica because of some little rebuke delivered by her, the other day, on the subject of age. ”But,” with concentrated energy, ”I would not be _brutal_, if I were you.”
”Brutal?” faintly.
”Yes, _brutal_, to keep him waiting for you all this time in the shadow near the ivy wall!”
Having discharged this sh.e.l.l, she waits in stony silence for a reply.
She waits some time. Then--
”Are you speaking of--of Mr. Desmond?” asks Monica, in a trembling voice.
”Yes. He is standing there now, and has been, for--oh, for hours,--on the bare chance of gaining one word from you.”
”Now?” starting.
”Yes. He said he would wait until I had persuaded you to go out. If I had such a lover, I know I should not keep him waiting for me all the evening _s.h.i.+vering_ with cold.”
(It is the balmiest of summer nights.)
”Oh! what shall I do?” says Monica, torn in two between her desire to be true to her aunt and yet not unkind to her lover.
”As I said before,” says the resolute Kit, turning her small pale face up to her sister, ”I know I am not ent.i.tled to dictate to any one, but this I know, too, that if I were you, and _twenty_ Aunt Priscillas were at my side, I should still--go to him! There!”
She conquers. Monica rises slowly, and as a first move in the desired direction goes--need I say it?--to the looking-gla.s.s. Need I say, also, that she feels dissatisfied with her appearance?
”Then I suppose I had better dress myself all over again,” she says, glancing with much discontent at the charming vision the gla.s.s returns to her.
”No, no!” says Kit, decidedly. She has now arranged herself as Mistress of the Ceremonies, and quite gives herself airs. ”Do not add even a touch to your toilet. You are quite too sweet as you are, and 'time presses'” (another quotation from one of her mouldy volumes).
”But _this_,” says Monica, plucking at her pretty loose gown, that hangs in limp artistic folds round her slight figure and is pranked out with costly laces.
”It is perfect! Have you no eyes for the beautiful? There, go, you silly child; Nature has been so good to you, you now deride her prodigality, and make little of the gifts she has bestowed upon you. Go to----”
”Good gracious!” says Monica, pausing to stare at her aghast. ”Where did you learn all that?”
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