“Because then he would know that it must be all over.”
“But is it all over? Within, I mean?”
“Jenny, you know better!”
“Then, Lenore, if so, and it is only your sister who objects, not your father himself, ought you to torment poor Frank by acting indifference when you do not feel it?”
“Am I untrue? I never thought of that. I thought I should be sacrificing myself for his good!”
“His good? O, Lenore, I believe it is the worst wrong a woman can do a man, to let him think he has wasted his heart upon her, and that she is trifling with him. You don’t know what a bad effect this is having, even on his prospects. He cannot get his brain or spirits free to work for his examination.”
“How hard it is to know what is right! Here have I been thinking that what made me so miserable must be the best for him, and would it not make it all the worse to relax, and let him see?”
“I do not think so,” returned Jenny. “His spirits would not be worn by doubt of you—the worst doubt of all: and he would feel that he had something to strive for.”
Eleonora walked on for some steps in silence, then exclaimed, “Yes, but there’s his family. It would only stir up trouble for them there. They can’t approve of me.”
“They don’t know you. When they do, they will. Now they only see what looks like—forgive me, Lena—caprice and coquetry; they will know you in earnest, if you will let them.”