“In this wise,” said he, calmly. “He felt that he owed me an apology for something that had occurred between us on that morning; and, when making his excuses, he deemed he could give no better proof of frankness than by this avowal. It was, besides, an act of fairness towards one who, trusting to his own false light, might have been lured to delusive hopes.”
“Perhaps so,” said she, coldly.
“It was very right of him, very proper.”
She nodded.
“It was more—it was generous.”
“He is generous,” said she, warmly.
“He had need be.”
“How do you mean, that he had need be?” asked she, eagerly.
“I mean this—that he will require every gift he has, and every grace, to outbalance the affection which I bear you—which I shall never cease to bear you. You prefer him. Now, you may regard me how you will—I will not consent to believe myself beaten. Yes, Florence, I know not only that I love you more than he does, but I love you with a love he is incapable of feeling. I do not wish to say one word in his dispraise, least of all to you, in whose favour I want to stand well; but I wish you—and it is no unfair request—to prove the affection of the two men who solicit your love.”
“I am satisfied with his.”