"But you love him, Nina?"
"Yes, I love him. I love him with all my heart. I love him better than all the world besides. Ruth, you cannot tell how I love him. I would lie down and die if he were to bid me."
"He will never bid you do that."
"You think that he is old, and dull, and silent, and cross. But when he will sit still and not say a word to me for an hour together, I think that I almost love him the best. I only want to be near him, Ruth."
"But you do not like him to be cross."
"Yes, I do. That is, I like him to scold me if he is angry. If he were angry, and did not scold a little, I should think that he was really vexed with me."
"Then you must be very much in love, Nina?"
"I am in love — very much."
"And does it make you happy?"
"Happy! Happiness depends on so many things. But it makes me feel that there can only be one real unhappiness; and unless that should come to me, I shall care for nothing. Good-bye, love. Tell your uncle that I was here, and say — say to him when no one else can hear, that I went away with a sad heart because I had not seen him."