“You talk as if you had sounded the depths of vice!” he said, laughing. “What do you know about other than virtuous charms?”
“I know, of course, nothing about vice; but I have known virtue when it was very tiresome.”
“Ah, then it was a poor affair. It was poor virtue. The best virtue is never tiresome.”
Miss Vivian looked at him a little, with her fine discriminating eye.
“What a dreadful thing to have to think any virtue poor!”
This was a touching reflection, and it might have gone further had not the conversation been interrupted by Mrs. Vivian’s appealing to her daughter to aid a defective recollection of a story about a Spanish family they had met at Biarritz, with which she had undertaken to entertain Gordon Wright. After this, the little circle was joined by a party of American friends who were spending a week at Baden, and the conversation became general.
But on the following evening, Bernard again found himself seated in friendly colloquy with this interesting girl, while Gordon Wright discoursed with her mother on one side, and little Blanche Evers chattered to the admiring eyes of Captain Lovelock on the other.
“You and your mother are very kind to that little girl,” our hero said; “you must be a great advantage to her.”
Angela Vivian directed her eyes to her neighbors, and let them rest a while on the young girl’s little fidgeting figure and her fresh, coquettish face. For some moments she said nothing, and to Longueville, turning over several things in his mind, and watching her, it seemed that her glance was one of disfavor. He divined, he scarcely knew how, that her esteem for her pretty companion was small.
“I don’t know that I am very kind,” said Miss Vivian. “I have done nothing in particular for her.”
“Mr. Wright tells me you came to this place mainly on her account.”
“I came for myself,” said Miss Vivian. “The consideration you speak of perhaps had weight with my mother.”
“You are not an easy person to say appreciative things to,” Bernard rejoined. “One is tempted to say them; but you don’t take them.”
The young girl colored as she listened to this observation.
“I don’t think you know,” she murmured, looking away. Then, “Set it down to modesty,” she added.
“That, of course, is what I have done. To what else could one possibly attribute an indifference to compliments?”