"Then I think you wrong him. And the reason why I have ventured to come to you is that you may know the impression which he has made upon one who was but the other day a stranger to him. I am sure that he loves you."
"I think he is light of heart."
"Oh, no, Miss Dale."
"And how am I to become his wife unless I love him well enough myself? Mrs. Arabin, I have made up my mind about it. I shall never become any man's wife. Mamma and I are all in all together, and we shall remain together." As soon as these words were out of her mouth, she hated herself for having spoken them. There was a maudlin, missish, namby-mamby sentimentality about them which disgusted her. She specially desired to be straightforward, resolute of purpose, honest-spoken, and free from all touch of affectation. And yet she had excused herself from marrying John Eames after the fashion of a sick schoolgirl. "It is no good talking about it any more," she said, getting up from her chair quickly.
"You are not angry with me;—or at any rate you will forgive me?"
"I'm quite sure you have meant to be very good, and I am not a bit angry."
"And you will see him before you go?"
"Oh, yes; that is if he likes to come to-day, or early to-morrow. I go home to-morrow. I cannot refuse him, because he is such an old friend,—almost like a brother. But it is of no use, Mrs. Arabin." Then Mrs. Arabin kissed her and left her, telling her that Mr. Eames would come to her that afternoon at half-past five. Lily promised that she would be at home to receive him.
"Won't you ride with us for the last time?" said Emily Dunstable when Lily gave notice that she would not want the horse on that afternoon.
"No; not to-day."