“Yes.”
Here I was in the midst of another confidence.
“I wanted you to come alone to-day so that we might talk it over. It is not that I love Fan any less.”
It was my turn to blush now. I did it with a sense of pain and shame. As if she divined my distress, she said—
“Richard told me about the day last summer. He did love Fanny very much—he loves her still in one way. But he understands how different their natures are.”
“That is just it;” I exclaimed with a sense of relief.
“She wants some one to guide and strengthen her, to be tender, and yet self-assertive. I do not believe she could ever have made the best of Richard. And I love to teach. I like the unfolding, the evolving, something to do, beside living straight along and enjoying one’s self. And Richard needs to go to school. That is nothing derogatory to him.”
“No. It is because he has had a rather repressed life. No one cared for the things which pleased him, except his father.”
“And the woman who takes it ought to spend all her energy in making it blossom, in bringing it to its best and richest fruitage.”
“As you will.”