“I don’t know, Aggie,” I returned. “Every one appears to think a good
deal of--that sort of thing--except you--and me. I think we shall be
friends, Aggie.”
“Thank you, Mr. Butterfield.” The grey eyes looked into some middle
distance that I could not follow. “Caroline does look nice,” she added,
making an admission that for some reason did not seem easy to her. “But,
of course, she’s your sister, and brothers do not think of that. Young
brothers, I mean.”
“Your brothers are young, then, Aggie?”
“Yes; and they say no one will ever want to marry _me_; but that is when
I won’t be tied to a table for them to fight about--an imprisoned
princess, you know. It doesn’t matter--now,” she added, half to herself,
and apparently forgetful of my presence.
“And you don’t like--all this?” I inquired, designating the surrounding
bustle with my hand.
“No,” she replied in the same half-musing tone. “_We_ shouldn’t have
wanted bridesmaids and things, you know.--Of course”--she momentarily
remembered my position--“it’s all lovely; but we should just have gone
away somewhere and not have had anybody but perhaps a maid. We shouldn’t
have wanted anyone else, you know; and we should have lived there ever
so long. That would have been nice.”
She was scarcely talking to me; but I replied:
“It is the ideal wedding, Aggie, although it is only for the few--there
are relations and people. I trust you will make a success of it. I hope
you will allow _me_ to make you a present, though?”
She raised her head again with the same remote look. I noticed a fine
gold chain round her neck, the end of which disappeared in her bosom.
“It won’t ever be quite the same,” she replied. “Perhaps some day I
shall have forgotten----”