"I do, when you think what a wreck you have made of all the hopes and plans that that poor dear man has been building with it."
"He will build some more, and better ones, by and bye, I hope."
"Not he. Men don't do that so easily at his age."
"Oh, yes," she persisted, imploringly, "I think he will, indeed. He did it very easily with me."
"For an exceedingly good reason—because he loved you from the first. Oh, you ungrateful little monkey, it's to be hoped you'll die an ugly old maid!"
"That would be better than being the wife for years and years of a man I did not love."
"Rubbish. As if one could have everything all at once in this world. You girls think of nothing but yourselves. You don't take into account that it might be worth while to make somebody else happy."
"How could I make him happy unless I loved him, Beatrice?"
"Oh, don't talk about it. You have pleased yourself, I suppose, and he must do the best he can. He is terribly miserable as he is, poor fellow; but I daresay he'll get over it."
"Is he miserable now?" inquired Rachel anxiously. "Have you seen him lately?"