Part 14 (2/2)
”If it's not Mr Hunter, I don't know. Tell me yourself.”
”Dane Peignton! Oh, Mary, why didn't you guess? I've cared always-- from the very first hour I saw him, and I knew he cared too, I was sure of it--and yet, one _can't_ be sure! When one cares so much, it seems too good to be true. He is so different from anyone else in this stupid little place. He belongs to the world, and to people like... like the people I met to-night, not to our poor, prosy little set. He was the most popular man there. He talked, and they listened; he made things go. They all liked him, and admired him. He has been here only a few months, and they all treat him as a friend, and oh, Mary! you know what they are like to _us_? If it hadn't been for him I should have felt like a fish out of water. They gushed, of course, they always gush, but one felt so apart. Old Sir Henry sat on my other side, and persisted in mistaking me for Miss Pell, and talked of things I knew nothing about.
I am sure they were all wondering what on earth I was doing up there.
What will they think to-morrow when they hear! I'm going to announce it at once. I want everyone to know. I'd like to shout it from the church tower... Oh, Mary, isn't it splendid? Don't you think I am the luckiest girl... Don't you think it is wonderful that he should care for me?”
”Yes... Does he?”
There was an incredulity in the voice in which the words were put which arrested Teresa in her flow of eloquence. She stared with lips agape, her blue eyes darkening in amaze.
”_Does he_? Does he care?... You ask me that! What are you dreaming about? If he didn't care, why in the world should he ask me to be his wife? We are not rich; we are not grand. Ours is not exactly a _lively_ family for a man to marry into. He might have chosen a girl in such a different position. Why should he choose me?”
Mary pulled the blankets over her thin chest, and appeared to consider the matter, her eyes resting on her sister's face with a coolly critical scrutiny.
”Perhaps because--you wanted him to! You generally do manage to get what you want, don't you, Teresa?”
Teresa straightened herself with an air of offence.
”There was no _management_ about this, anyhow! Whatever I wanted, I didn't give myself away. I never ran after him and made myself cheap, as some girls do. It's horrid of you to suggest such a thing. Did I ever show that I cared for him when he was here? I can't have done, or you would not have been so surprised when you heard of our engagement.”
”I knew you cared for him. You had a perfectly different face when he was in the room. We all knew. We were sorry for you, because we thought he didn't return it. Mother was thinking of sending you to Aunt Emma's.”
”Oh, she was, was she!” Teresa tossed her head once more, but the inner happiness was too great to allow of more than a pa.s.sing irritation. She stretched out her hand, and gripped her sister by the arm.
”Mary! you are horrid. Not one single nice word yet, not one congratulation, when I came in at once to tell you before anyone in the world! If it had been mother, she'd have been hanging round my neck in hysterics of excitement, but you do nothing but lie there and croak, and throw cold water. I'm your own sister--does it seem so extraordinary that a man should want to marry me? Mary, be _nice_! Congratulate me!
Won't you be glad to have a married sister, and all the fun and excitement of a wedding in the house?”
”Fun!” echoed Mary, and shuddered eloquently. In imagination she saw her mother collecting store catalogues, comparing prices to the fraction of a penny, and dictating innumerable notes. In imagination she saw herself spending week after week eternally sewing for Teresa, marking for Teresa, running ribbons through Teresa's _lingerie_, unpacking Teresa's presents, packing Teresa's boxes, tidying, arranging, slaving for Teresa, while Teresa herself paid calls, and sat with her lover in the drawing-room. All these things she would do when the time came, and do them meekly and well, but in the doing there would be no ”fun.”
There was no lightsomeness of spirit in the Mallison household to ease the strain of small duties, or turn a _contretemps_ into a joke. Mrs Mallison's heart would swell with pride at the prospect of providing an outfit for the future Mrs Dane Peignton; she would say and believe that the whole responsibility was borne on her shoulders; nevertheless, the preparation of that outfit would add years to the lives of every human creature beneath her roof.
”I can't say that I look forward to the wedding itself, but I hope you will be happy. It would be nice for one of us to be happy. Captain Peignton is a good man; I hope he will be happy too.” Mary hesitated, and a pathetic curiosity showed itself in her face. ”I suppose you couldn't tell me what he said?”
Teresa shook her head.
”Of _course not_! ... Very little really. It was in the car. The man ran us into the ditch. I was frightened, and... and then, of course--he comforted me! We got home so quickly that there was not much time.--He is coming to-morrow morning.”
Mary nodded, a light of comprehension brightening her eyes.
”You are quite sure he meant it? You are always so sure that you are right, and that everything ought to go as you wish. Don't be too sure of him, Teresa! Even if you are properly engaged, don't be too sure.
He has only met you now and again for an hour at a time, and seen that you were young and pretty, and good at games. Now he will see you often. He may be disappointed and change his mind!”
”Am I so much worse than I appear?”
”I didn't mean worse.”
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