“She was not so weak,” he murmured.
“Oh, Arthur, you have not been weak. Everyone says—”
“No one knows,” he answered. “All that should help me has no reality apart from her.”
“But it is not apart from her, Arthur,” said Flossy, earnestly. “I—”
“Yes?” said Arthur, looking up.
“Even I,” said Flossy, humbly, “I think of her at church, and doing my work, or on beautiful days like this.”
“Yes, dear Flossy, I’m sure you do,” said Arthur, gratified; but not as if he took the words home.
“And I hope,” said Flossy, “that it will make me a better girl, and more like her.”
“You are right, Flossy,” said Arthur, after a pause, with more spirit. “I don’t want to give up, and everyone is so kind to me; they all think of what I like. But,” he added, in a passionate undertone, “she was my angel; and all prayers, Sundays, all the things that comfort a good girl like you, are filled with longing for her!”
“But they won’t be less dear for that?” whispered Flossy.