‘Oh!’ exclaimed Violet.
‘I told her I could not be made a fool of any longer, and when she answered “Very well,” what could that mean?’
‘I am very much grieved that it has come to this,’ sighed Violet.
‘How could it come to anything else?’ he said, his face full of sorrow and severity. ‘I was mad to suppose there was any hope for such a temper of pride and stubbornness. Yet,’ he added, softening, and his quick, stern eyes filling with tears, ‘it is a noble nature,—high-minded, uncompromising, deeply tender, capable of anything. It has been a cruel wicked thing to ruin all by education. What could come of it? A life of struggle with women who had no notion of an appeal to principle and affection—growing up with nothing worthy of her love and respect—her very generosity becoming a stumbling-block, till her pride and waywardness have come to such an indomitable pitch that they are devouring all that was excellent.’
He paused; Violet, confused and sorrowful, knew not how to answer; and he proceeded, ‘I have known her, watched her, loved her from infancy! I never saw one approaching her in fine qualities. I thought, and still think, she needs but one conquest to rise above all other women. I believed guidance and affection would teach her all she needed; and so they would, but it was presumption and folly to think it was I who could inspire them.’
‘O, Mr. Fotheringham, indeed—’
‘It was absurd to suppose that she who trifles with every one would not do so with me. Yet, even now, I cannot believe her capable of carrying trifling to the extent she has done.’
‘She was in earnest,—oh! she was!’
‘I would fain think so,’ said he, sadly. ‘I held to that trust, in spite of the evidence of my senses. I persuaded myself that her manners were the effect of habit—the triumph of one pre-eminent in attraction.’
‘That they are! I don’t even think she knows what she does.’