"No, there has been no quarrel," said Caroline, with forced tranquillity of voice and manner. "No such quarrel as you mean. Do not deceive yourself, dear aunt; it is over now, over for ever."
"For ever, Caroline!"
"Yes, for ever. That has been said which can never be unsaid. Do not grieve about it"—aunt Mary was now in tears—"it is better so; I am sure it is better. We should not have made each other happy."
"But three years, Caroline; three years!" said aunt Mary through her tears, thinking of the time that had been so sadly lost. Aunt Mary was widely awake to the fact that three years was a long period in a girl's life, and that to have passed three years as the betrothed of one man and then to leave him was injurious to the matrimonial prospects of a young lady. Miss Baker was full of these little mundane considerations; but then they were never exercised, never had been exercised, on her own behalf.
"Yes, three years!" and Caroline smiled, even through her grief. "It cannot be helped, aunt. And the rest of it; neither can that be helped. Three years! say thirty, aunt."
Miss Baker looked at her, not quite understanding. "And must it be so?" said she.
"Must! oh, yes, indeed it must. It must now, must—must—must."
Then they both sat silent for awhile. Miss Baker was longing to know the cause of this sudden disruption, but she hesitated at first to inquire. It was not, however, to be borne that the matter should be allowed to remain altogether undiscussed.
"But what is it he has said?" she at last asked. Caroline had never told her aunt that that letter had been shown to Mr. Harcourt, and had no intention of telling her so now.
"I could not tell you, aunt, all that passed. It was not what he said more than what I said. At least—no; that is not true. It did arise from what he said; but I would not answer him as he would have me; and so we agreed to part."