"As to your engagement I should care nothing. Does he love you as I love you? If he loves you, why is he not here? If he loves you, why does he let his mother ill-use you, and treat you with scorn? If he loves you as I love you, how could he write to you as he does write? Would I write to you such a letter as that? Would I let you be here without coming to you,—to be looked after by any one else? If you had said that you would be my wife, would I leave you in solitude and sorrow, and then send you seventy-five pounds to console you? If you think he loves you, Clara—"
"He thought he was doing right when he sent me the money."
"But he shouldn't have thought it right. Never mind. I don't want to accuse him; but this I know,—and you know; he does not love you as I love you."
"What can I say to answer you?"
"Say that you will wait till you have seen him. Say that I may have a hope,—a chance; that if he is cold, and hard, and,—and,—and, just what we know he is, then I may have a chance."
"How can I say that when I am engaged to him? Cannot you understand that I am wrong to let you speak of him as you do?"
"How else am I to speak of him? Tell me this. Do you love him?"
"Yes;—I do."
"I don't believe it!"
"Will!"