"You will know them too some day, and then you will think differently,"
said Em, with the condescending magnanimity which superior knowledge can
always afford to show to ignorance.
Lyndall's little lip quivered in a manner indicative of intense amusement.
She twirled a massive ring upon her forefinger--a ring more suitable for
the hand of a man, and noticeable in design--a diamond cross let into gold,
with the initials "R.R." below it.
"Ah, Lyndall," Em cried, "perhaps you are engaged yourself--that is why you
smile. Yes; I am sure you are. Look at this ring!"
Lyndall drew the hand quickly from her.
"I am not in so great a hurry to put my neck beneath any man's foot; and I
do not so greatly admire the crying of babies," she said, as she closed her
eyes half wearily and leaned back in the chair. "There are other women
glad of such work."
Em felt rebuked and ashamed. How could she take Lyndall and show her the
white linen and the wreath, and the embroidery? She was quiet for a little
while, and then began to talk about Trana and the old farm-servants, till
she saw her companion was weary; then she rose and left her for the night.
But after Em was gone Lyndall sat on, watching the old crone's face in the
corner, and with a weary look, as though the whole world's weight rested on
these frail young shoulders.
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