He was quite unprepared for this violent demonstration of grief.
“I be sorry I’ve hurt your feelings, Jane, truly sorry,” he murmured.
“Don’t say anything to me. Don’t say kind things. Oh, how truly wretched I am!” interrupted Jane.
“Wretched!” he exclaimed, in a tone of surprise.
“I had never counted on this.”
“And is an honest man’s love a thing to be despised?” he said, with something like indignation in his tone.
“No, my dear master, it’s a thing to be proud of,” returned Jane, throwing her arms round his neck, and embracing him tenderly. “It would and ought to make any girl proud and happy—any but me.”
“Ah, that’s it—is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You love another.”