Knowing that such a mood could not last long, she hastened to make
it available: she bent down, and put her arms around Sophie's neck.
"I'm so glad, darling! so happy! How splendid! isn't it? What a perfect
match! Ah, Sophie, I sympathize with you with all my heart. I couldn't
have wished you any thing better."
This was doing very well. Her manner was a little exaggerated; her
speech was hurried, and almost mechanical. She avoided looking Sophie in
the face while the lies were coming out of her mouth (if they were real
lies, and not a bastard kind of truth, good while spoken, and the next
moment degenerating into falsehood). Notwithstanding these minor
defects, it was a very successful effort--excitement, and even vehement
emotion, were quite admissible in a warm-hearted girl who had her
sister's welfare nearly at heart, and much might be allowed to
surprise. Indeed, Sophie, though a good deal agitated, and even anxious,
was not in the least suspicious or dissatisfied. Such was the loyalty
and humility of her own nature, that much stronger grounds would have
failed to inspire misgivings.
"I thought you were going to be ill, at first," she remarked, with a
loving smile. "Perhaps I told you too abruptly--did I? You see, I
thought you half knew it already--at least, that you suspected it--and,
then, to tell the truth, dear," added she, with a bright smile in her
eyes, "I didn't think you'd care so much--be so _very_ glad, I mean.
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