He looked at her in amazement. She was as pale as death, but in a firm voice she repeated, “I do not wish him to come on Sunday, or ever again.”
“What is the matter, my child?”
“Nothing, dear grandfather, save that I can never marry Jack.”
“You frighten me, Cécile! Tell me what you mean.”
“I am simply beginning to understand myself. I do not love him; I was mistaken.”
“Good heavens, child, are you quite mad? You have had some childish misunderstanding.”
“No, grandpapa, I assure you that I have for Jack a sister’s friendship, nothing more. I cannot be his wife.”
The doctor was startled. “Cécile,” he said, gravely, “do you love any other person?”
She colored. “No; but I do not wish to marry;” and to all that M. Rivals said she would make no other reply.
He asked her what would be said, what would be thought by their little world. “Remember,” he said, “that to Jack this will be a frightful blow; his whole future will be sacrificed.”