"I am engaged to be married," said she, a rose-colored flush spreading
over her cheeks. She delayed lovingly over the words--they were dear,
because they expressed such a world of happiness.
Cornelia repeated the words stupidly. She felt as if she were rooted
beneath a rock, which was about to fall and crush her. Yet, resolutely
shutting her eyes to what she knew must come--to gain an instant's time
to breathe and brace herself--she asked, with an air of vivacious
interest, bending down, and studying Sophie's face the while--
"Engaged, did you say? To whom, dear?"
"Why, to Mr. Bressant. Who else could it be?"
Sophie spoke in a soft tone of gentle surprise, but the words rang in
Cornelia's brain as if they had been fired from a cannon. She closed her
eyes, and leaned back in her chair. The strings of her hat choked
her--she tore them apart, and the hat fell from her nerveless hand to
the floor. She strove to open her eyes and command herself, but her
sight was blurred and darkened, and her head dizzy.
In a minute or two, however, she recovered herself sufficiently to be
aware that Sophie was alarmed about her. The imperative necessity not to
betray herself gave her a brief and superficial control. Her mind was in
confusion, and it was, perhaps, for this reason--because she could not
collect her faculties and analyze the situation--that she was enabled to
feel a gush of the natural, tender love for her sister--a joy in her
joy.
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