'I know no such thing. My father is here on purpose to assure you that it makes not the slightest difference to him.'
'Yours! Yes! But oh, Louis!' with a voice that, in its faintness and steadiness, had a sound of anguish—'only think what I allowed him to make me do! To insult my father and his choice! It was a mistake, I know,' she continued, fearing to be unjust and to grieve Louis; 'but a most dreadful one!'
'He says he should have brought you home all the same—' began Louis. 'Mary, you must sit down!' he cried, interrupting himself to come nearer; and she obeyed, sinking into the chair. 'What a state you are in! How could you go through yesterday? How could you be distressed, and not let me know?'
'I could not spoil their wedding-day, that we had wished for so long.'
'Then you had the letter?'
'In the morning. Oh, that I had examined farther! Oh, that I had never come home!'
'Mary! I cannot hear you say so.'
'You would have been spared all this. You were doing very well without me—as you will—'
He cried out with deprecating horror.
'Louis!' she said, imploringly. 'Oh, Louis! do not make it harder for me to do right.'