"Any good woman would love you, Edgar," said my sister. She hesitated,
then asked slowly: "Have you said anything to Coralie?"

"Certainly not. Why should I?"

A delicate color flushed my sister's face.

"To tell you the truth," she replied, "I have fancied of late that
Coralie likes you. Nay, I need not mince matters; I am quite sure she
loves you."

"She loves us both, because we are all in the world she has to love; but
not in the way you mean, Clare."

But Clare shook her head doubtfully.

"I hope I may be mistaken; but, Edgar, I have a nervous feeling about
it, difficult to describe and hard to bear, as though evil would come to
you through her. I cannot tell you how the thought haunts and perplexes
me."

I laughed, little dreaming then how it would be.

"Sheer nervous fancy, Clare. Take it at the very worst, that Coralie
does like me, perhaps, a little too well, and is both piqued and angry
at my engagement, in the name of common sense, I ask you, what possible
harm can she do to me?"

"None that I can see; yet the dread lies heavy upon me, brother."