“You good little soul, you are always right. Look at me again, Euneece. Are you beginning to doubt me? Oh, my darling, don’t do that! It isn’t using me fairly. I can’t bear it--I can’t bear it!”
I took her hand; I was on the point of speaking to her with the kindness she deserved from me. On a sudden she snatched her hand away and ran back to the piano. When she was seated on the music-stool, her face was hidden from me. At that moment she broke into a strange cry--it began like a laugh, and it ended like a sob.
“Go away to papa! Don’t mind me--I’m a creature of impulse--ha! ha! ha! a little hysterical--the state of the weather--I get rid of these weaknesses, my dear, by singing to myself. I have a favorite song: ‘My heart is light, my will is free.’--Go away! oh, for God’s sake, go away!”
I had heard of hysterics, of course; knowing nothing about them, however, by my own experience. What could have happened to agitate her in this extraordinary manner?
Had Helena’s letter anything to do with it? Was my sister indignant with Philip for swearing in my presence; and had she written him an angry letter, in her zeal on my behalf? But Selina could not possibly have seen the letter--and Helena (who is often hard on me when I do stupid things) showed little indulgence for me, when I was so unfortunate as to irritate Philip. I gave up the hopeless attempt to get at the truth by guessing, and went away to forget my troubles, if I could, in my father’s society.
After knocking twice at the door of the study, and receiving no reply, I ventured to look in.
The sofa in this room stood opposite the door. Papa was resting on it, but not in comfort. There were twitching movements in his feet, and he shifted his arms this way and that as if no restful posture could he found for them. But what frightened me was this. His eyes, staring straight at the door by which I had gone in, had an inquiring expression, as if he actually did not know me! I stood midway between the door and the sofa, doubtful about going nearer to him.
He said: “Who is it?” This to me--to his own daughter. He said: “What do you want?”
I really could _not_ bear it. I went up to him. I said: “Papa, have you forgotten Eunice?”