She felt helpless and baffled.
Christopher laughed at her silence.
"I guess you're a little jealous," he said. "You must have
expected I would get married some time. This house is big enough
for us all. You'd better look at the matter sensibly, Eunice.
Don't let Charles and Caroline put nonsense into your head. A
man must marry to please himself."
Christopher was out late that night. Eunice waited up for him,
as she always did. It was a chilly spring evening, reminding her
of the night her mother had died. The kitchen was in spotless
order, and she sat down on a stiff-backed chair by the window to
wait for her brother.
She did not want a light. The moonlight fell in with faint
illumination. Outside, the wind was blowing over a bed of
new-sprung mint in the garden, and was suggestively fragrant. It
was a very old-fashioned garden, full of perennials Naomi Holland
had planted long ago. Eunice always kept it primly neat. She
had been working in it that day, and felt tired.
She was all alone in the house and the loneliness filled her with
a faint dread. She had tried all that day to reconcile herself
to Christopher's marriage, and had partially succeeded. She told
herself that she could still watch over him and care for his
comfort. She would even try to love Victoria; after all, it
might be pleasant to have another woman in the house. So,
sitting there, she fed her hungry soul with these husks of
comfort.
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