’Yes, dead; what’s the use of living when I know that I shall be an old maid?  We shall all be old maids.  What’s the use of being pretty, either, when Violet, though she be but a bag of bones, has got the Marquis?  I have been out two seasons now, and nothing has come of all the trying.  And yet I was the belle of the season, wasn’t I, Alice?’ And now, looking more than ever like a cameo Niobe, Olive stared at her sister piteously.  ’Oh yes, Alice, I know I shall be an old maid; and isn’t it dreadful, and I the belle of the season?  It makes me so unhappy.  No one ever heard of the belle (and I was the belle not of one, but of two seasons) remaining an old maid.  I can understand a lot of ugly things not getting married, but I—­’

Alice smiled, and half ironically she asked herself if Olive really suffered.  No heart-pang was reflected in those blue mindless eyes; there was no heart to wound:  only a little foolish vanity had been bruised.

‘And to think,’ cried this whimpering beauty, when Alice had seen her successfully through a flood of hysterical tears, ’that I was silly enough to give up dear Edward.  I am punished for it now, indeed I am; and it was very wicked of me—­it was a great sin.  I broke his heart.  But you know, Alice dear, that it was all mamma’s fault; she urged me on; and you know how I refused, how I resisted her.  Didn’t I resist—­tell me.  You know, and why won’t you say that I did resist?’

’You did, indeed, Olive; but you must not distress yourself, or you will make yourself ill.’

’Yes, perhaps you are right, there’s nothing makes one look so ugly as crying, and if I lost my looks and met Edward he might not care for me.  He’d be disappointed, I mean—­but I haven’t lost my looks; I am just as pretty as I was when I came out first.  Am I not, Alice?’

‘Indeed you are, dear.’

’You don’t think I have gone off a bit—­now do tell me? and I want to ask you what you think of my hair in a fringe; Papa says it isn’t classical, but that’s nonsense.  I wish I knew how Edward would like me to wear it.’

’But you mustn’t think of him, Olive dear; you know mother would never hear of it.’

’I can’t help thinking of him. . . .  And now I will tell you something, Alice, if you promise me on your word of honour not to scold me, and, above all, not to tell mamma.’

‘I promise.’

’Well, the other day I was walking at the end of the lawn feeling so very miserable.  You don’t know how miserable I feel; you are never miserable, for you think of nothing but your books.  Well (mind, you have given me your word not to tell anyone), I saw Captain Hibbert riding along the road, and when he saw me he stopped his horse and kissed his hand to me.’

‘And what did you do?’

’I don’t know what I did.  He called me, and then I saw Milord coming along the road, and fled but, oh, isn’t it cruel of mamma to have forbidden Edward to come and see us? and he loving me as much as ever.’