"There is something practical in everything I do and especially in this. I've gone over the thing a thousand times. I'll go over it again once more. You don't love the man you have promised to marry; you do love me. Furthermore, he doesn't love you and I do--Oh, he has a certain affection for you, I'll admit. Nobody could help that, and it's probably growing, too. I suppose in time he will--"
"Love me as you do?"
"Never; no one could do that, but as much as he could love any one. But that isn't the point. For a quixotic scruple, a mistaken idea of honor, an utterly unwarranted conception of a daughter's duty, you are going to marry a man you don't and can't love and--"
"You are very positive. How do you know I can't?"
"I know you love me and I know that a girl like you can't change any more than I can."
"That's the truth," answered the girl with a finality which bespoke extreme youth, and shut off any further discussion of that phase.
"Well, then, you'll be unhappy, I'll be unhappy, and he'll be unhappy."
"I can make him happy."
"No, you can't. If he learns to love you he will miss what I would enjoy. He'll find out the truth and be miserable."
"Your solicitude for his happiness--"