"And yet it is so easily understood!" said Mary, pleading hard for herself. "I did not love him, and—"
"But you had accepted him, Mary."
"I know I had. It is so natural that you should think that I have behaved badly."
"I have not said so, my dear."
"I know that, Aunt Sarah; but if you think so,—and of course you do,—write and ask Janet Fenwick. She will tell you everything. You know how devoted she is to Mr. Gilmore. She would have done anything for him. But even she will tell you that at last I could not help it. When I was so very wretched I thought that I would do my best to comply with other people's wishes. I got a feeling that nothing signified for myself. If they had told me to go into a convent or to be a nurse in a hospital I would have gone. I had nothing to care for, and if I could do what I was told perhaps it might be best."
"But why did you not go on with it, my dear?"
"It was impossible—after Walter had written to me."
"But Walter is to marry Edith Brownlow."
"No, dear aunt; no. Walter is to marry me. Don't look like that, Aunt Sarah. It is true;—it is, indeed." She had now dragged her chair close to her aunt's seat upon the sofa, so that she could put her hands upon her aunt's knees. "All that about Miss Brownlow has been a fable."
"Parson John told me that it was fixed."