"I can guess," she said, quietly. "You have told Agatha you love her,
and have asked her to be your wife. Is that it?"
"Yes. She has promised, Clare. She loves me--she whom I have always
looked up to as some queen so far above me."
"Any good woman would love you, Edgar," said my sister. She hesitated,
then asked slowly: "Have you said anything to Coralie?"
"Certainly not. Why should I?"
A delicate color flushed my sister's face.
"To tell you the truth," she replied, "I have fancied of late that
Coralie likes you. Nay, I need not mince matters; I am quite sure she
loves you."
"She loves us both, because we are all in the world she has to love; but
not in the way you mean, Clare."
But Clare shook her head doubtfully.
"I hope I may be mistaken; but, Edgar, I have a nervous feeling about
it, difficult to describe and hard to bear, as though evil would come to
you through her. I cannot tell you how the thought haunts and perplexes
me."
I laughed, little dreaming then how it would be.
"Sheer nervous fancy, Clare. Take it at the very worst, that Coralie
does like me, perhaps, a little too well, and is both piqued and angry
at my engagement, in the name of common sense, I ask you, what possible
harm can she do to me?"
"None that I can see; yet the dread lies heavy upon me, brother.
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