"Not a soul; I have wished every one good-night. I was rather tired, to
tell the truth, and not inclined for talk. But of course I am always glad
of a chat with you, Geraldine.--You may go, Parker; I can finish my hair
myself."
The maid retired, as quietly as some attendant spirit.
Lady Laura took up a big ivory brush and began smoothing the long chestnut
locks in a meditative way, waiting for her sister to speak. But Lady
Geraldine seemed scarcely in the mood for lively conversation; her fingers
were twisting themselves in and out upon the arm of her chair in a nervous
way, and her face had a thoughtful, not to say moody, expression.
Her sister watched her for some minutes silently.
"What is the matter, Geraldine?" she inquired at last. "I can see there is
something wrong."
"There is very much that is wrong," the other answered with a kind of
suppressed vehemence. "Upon my word, Laura, I believe it is your destiny
to stand in my light at every stage of my life, or you would scarcely have
happened to have planted that girl here just at this particular time."
"What girl?" cried Lady Laura, amazed at this sudden accusation.
"Clarissa Lovel."
"Good gracious me, Geraldine! what has my poor Clarissa done to offend
you?"
"Your poor Clarissa has only set her cap at George Fairfax; and as she
happens to be several years younger than I am, and I suppose a good deal
prettier, she has thoroughly succeeded in distracting his attention--his
regard, perhaps--from myself.
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