"Ah, yes;—she loves him. We must not doubt that."
"And he;—what does she say of him?"
"She says what you also must say, Florence;—though it is hard that it should be so. It must be as he shall decide."
"No," said Florence, withdrawing herself from the arm that was still around her. "No; it shall not be as he may choose to decide. I will not so submit myself to him. It is enough as it is. I will never see him more;—never. To say that I do not love him would be untrue, but I will never see him again."
"Stop, dear; stop. What if it be no fault of his?"
"No fault of his that he went to her when we—we—we—he and I—were, as we were, together!"
"Of course there has been some fault; but, Flo dearest, listen to me. You know that I would ask you to do nothing from which a woman should shrink."
"I know that you would give your heart's blood for me;—but nothing will be of avail now. Do not look at me with melancholy eyes like that. Cissy, it will not kill me. It is only the doubt that kills one."
"I will not look at you with melancholy eyes, but you must listen to me. She does not herself know what his intention is."
"But I know it,—and I know my own. Read my letter, Cissy. There is not one word of anger in it, nor will I ever utter a reproach. He knew her first. If he loved her through it all, it was a pity he could not be constant to his love, even though she was false to him."