She must never question this, although he had dealt the comfortable
persuasion a cruel blow; wounded her in a vital part by withholding
from her the circumstance of his attachment and betrothal until the
near approach of the wedding day rendered continued secrecy
inexpedient. No softening memory of his affianced had inclined him
to listen with kindly warmth to her timid avowals, or Frederic's
manly protestations of their mutual attachment. He recognized no
analogy in the two cases; stood aloof from them in the flush of his
successful love, as if he had never known the pregnant meaning of
the word. Smarting under the sense of injury to pride and affection,
her language, when she could trust her voice, was a protest that, in
Winston's judgment, ill beseemed her age and station.
"Why did you not tell me of this earlier, brother? It was unjust and
unkind to keep me in the dark until now."
"You forget yourself, Mabel. I am not under obligation to account to
you for my actions."
He said it composedly, as if stating a truth wholly disconnected
with feeling on his part or on hers.
"I have given you the information to which you refer, in season for
you to make ample preparation for my wife's reception. And, mark me,
she must see no sulkiness, no airs of strangeness or intolerance,
because I have managed a matter that concerns me chiefly, as seemed
to me best. Say the same to Mrs. Sutton, if you please; also that I
will submit to no dictation, and ask no advice."
Mabel's anger seldom outlived its utterance. The hot sparkle in her
eye was quenched by moisture, as she laid her hand caressingly upon
her brother's.
"Winston! you cannot suppose that we could be wanting in cordiality
to any one whom you love, much less to your wife. Let her come when
she may, she will be heartily welcomed by us both. But this has
fallen suddenly upon me, and I am a little out of sorts to-day, I
believe--excited and nervous--and, O, my darling! my oldest and best
of friends! I hope your love will bring to you the happiness you
deserve."
The tears had their course, at last, bathing the hand she bowed to
kiss. The simple ardor of the outbreak would have affected many men
to a show of responsive weakness. Even Winston Aylett's physiognomy
was more human and less statuesque, as he patted her head, and bade
her be composed.
"If you persist in enacting Niobe, I shall believe that you are
chagrined at the prospect of having the sister you have repeatedly
besought me to give you," he said, playfully--for him. "You have not
asked me her name, and where she lives. What has become of your
curiosity? I never knew it to be quiescent before."