"There, that will do, Eunice!" interposed the father. "Sit down, Dan, and don't be an ass, if you are engaged. Do you expect to come up here with a bombshell in your pocket, and explode it among us without causing any commotion? We all desire your happiness, and we are glad if you think you've found it, but we want to have time to realise it. We had only adjusted our minds to the apparent fact that you hadn't found it when you were here before." His father began very severely, but when he ended with this recognition of what they had all blinked till then, they laughed together.
"My pillow isn't dry yet, with the tears I shed for you, Dan," said Minnie demurely.
"I shall have to countermand my mourning," said Eunice, "and wear louder colours than ever. Unless," she added, "Miss Pasmer changes her mind again."This divination of the past gave them all a chance for another laugh, and Dan's sisters began to reconcile themselves to the fact of his engagement, if not to Miss Pasmer. In what was abstractly so disagreeable there was the comfort that they could joke about his happiness; they had not felt free to make light of his misery when he was at home before. They began to ask all the questions they could think of as to how and when, and they assimilated the fact more and more in acquiring these particulars and making a mock of them and him.
"Of course you haven't got her photograph," suggested Eunice. "You know we've never had the pleasure of meeting the young lady yet.""Yes," Dan owned, blushing, "I have. She thought I might like to show it to mother: But it isn't--""A very good one--they never are," said Minnie.
"And it was taken several years ago--they always are," said Eunice.
"And she doesn't photograph well, anyway.""And this one was just after a long fit of sickness."Dan drew it out of his pocket, after some fumbling for it, while he tolerated their gibes.
Eunice put her nose to it. "I hope it's your cigarettes it smells of,"she said.
"Yes; she doesn't use the weed," answered Dan.
"Oh, I didn't mean that, exactly," returned his sister, holding the picture off at arm's length, and viewing it critically with contracted eyes.
Dan could not help laughing. "I don't think it's been near any other cigar-case," he answered tranquilly.
Minnie looked at it very near to, covering all but the face with her hand.
"Dan, she's lovely!" she cried, and Dan's heart leaped into his throat As he gratefully met his sister's eyes.
"You'll like her, Min."
Eunice took the photograph from her for a second scrutiny. "She's certainly very stylish. Rather a beak of a nose, and a little too bird--like on the whole. But she isn't so bad. Is it like her?" she asked with a glance at her father.
"I might say--after looking," he replied.
"True! I didn't know but Dan had shown it to you as soon as you met. He seemed to be in such a hurry to let us all know."The father said, "I don't think it flatters her," and he looked at it more carefully. "Not much of her mother there?" he suggested to Dan.
"No, sir; she's more like her father."
"Well, after all this excitement, I believe I'll have another cup of tea, and take something to eat, if Miss Pasmer's photograph doesn't object,"said Eunice, and she replenished her cup and plate.
"What coloured hair and eyes has she, Dan?" asked Minnie.
He had to think so as to be exact. "Well, you might say they were black, her eyebrows are so dark. But I believe they're a sort of greyish-blue.""Not an uncommon colour for eyes," said Eunice, "but rather peculiar for hair."They got to making fun of the picture, and Dan told them about Alice and her family; the father left them at the table, and then came back with word from Dan's mother that she was ready to see him.
XXX.
By eight o'clock in the evening the pain with which every day began for Mrs. Mavering was lulled, and her jarred nerves were stayed by the opiates till she fell asleep about midnight. In this interval the family gathered into her room, and brought her their news and the cheer of their health.
The girls chattered on one side of her bed, and their father sat with his newspaper on the other, and read aloud the passages which he thought would interest her, while she lay propped among her pillows, brilliantly eager for the world opening this glimpse of itself to her shining eyes. That was on her good nights, when the drugs did their work, but there were times when they failed, and the day's agony prolonged itself through the evening, and the sleep won at last was a heavy stupor. Then the sufferer's temper gave way under the stress; she became the torment she suffered, and tore the hearts she loved. Most of all, she afflicted the man who had been so faithful to her misery, and maddened him to reprisals, of which he afterward abjectly repented. Her tongue was sharpened by pain, and pitilessly skilled to inculpate and to punish; it pierced and burned like fire but when a good day came again she made it up to the victims by the angelic sweetness and sanity which they felt was her real self; the cruelty was only the mask of her suffering.
