“Your behaviour has ever been kind and noble,” said Rose, mastering the emotions by which she was agitated. “As you believe that I am not insensible or ungrateful, so hear my answer.”
“It is, that I may endeavour to deserve you—is it, dear Rose?”
“It is,” replied Rose, “that you must endeavour to forget me—not as your old and dearly-attached companion, for that would wound me deeply, but as the object of your love. Look into the world, think how many hearts you would be equally proud to gain are there. Confide some other passion to me if you will, and I will be the truest, warmest, most faithful friend you have.”
There was a pause, during which, Rose, who had covered her face with one hand, gave free vent to her tears. Harry still retained the other. “And your reasons, Rose,” he said, at length, in a low voice; “your reasons for this decision—may I ask them?”
“You have a right to know them,” rejoined Rose. “You can say nothing to alter my resolution. It is a duty that I must perform. I owe it alike to others and to myself.”
“To yourself?”
“Yes, Harry; I owe it to myself, that I, a friendless, portionless girl, with a blight upon my name, should not give the world reason to suspect that I had sordidly yielded to your first passion, and fastened myself, a clog, upon all your hopes and projects. I owe it to you and yours, to prevent you from opposing, in the warmth of your generous nature, this great obstacle to your progress in the world.”
“If your inclinations chime with your sense of duty——” Harry began.
“They do not,” replied Rose, colouring deeply.