“Why do you say ‘poor’ Mr. Wright?” asked Bernard.
“Because I am sadly afraid he is not happy with Blanche.”
“How did you discover that—without seeing them together?”
“Well, perhaps you will think me very fanciful,” said Mrs. Vivian; “but it was by the way he looked at Angela. He has such an expressive face.”
“He looked at me very kindly, mamma,” Angela observed.
“He regularly stared, my daughter. In any one else I should have said it was rude. But his situation is so peculiar; and one could see that he admired you still.” And Mrs. Vivian gave a little soft sigh.
“Ah! she is thinking of the thirty thousand a year,” Bernard said to himself.
“I am sure I hope he admires me still,” the girl cried, laughing. “There is no great harm in that.”
“He was comparing you with Blanche—and he was struck with the contrast.”
“It could n’t have been in my favor. If it ‘s a question of being looked at, Blanche bears it better than I.”