"Trash! But the word from him in such a letter is simply an additional insult. And what does he know about this woman who has come back? He vouches for her, but what can he know of her? Just what she tells him. He is simply a fool."
"But you cannot dislike him for believing her word."
"Cecilia," said he, holding down the letter as he spoke,—"you are so carried away by your love for Florence, and your fear lest a marriage which has been once talked of should not take place, that you shut your eyes to this man's true character. Can you believe any good of a man who tells you to your face that he is engaged to two women at once?"
"I think I can," said Cecilia, hardly venturing to express so dangerous an opinion above her breath.
"And what would you think of a woman who did so?"
"Ah, that is so different! I cannot explain it, but you know that it is different."
"I know that you would forgive a man anything, and a woman nothing." To this she submitted in silence, having probably heard the reproof before, and he went on to finish the letter. "Not defending himself!" he exclaimed,—"then why does he not defend himself? When a man tells me that he does not, or cannot defend himself, I know that he is a sorry fellow, without a spark of spirit."
"I don't think that of Harry. Surely that letter shows a spirit."
"Such a one as I should be ashamed to see in a dog. No man should ever be in a position in which he cannot defend himself. No man, at any rate, should admit himself to be so placed. Wish that he should go on with his engagement! I do not wish it at all. I am sorry for Florence. She will suffer terribly. But the loss of such a lover as that is infinitely a lesser loss than would be the gain of such a husband. You had better write to Florence, and tell her not to come."
"Oh, Theodore!"