"This will greatly add to your discredit in the affair: you must see that. Really," says mother, sinking into a chair, and sighing again, "this engagement, that should cause us all such pride and joy, is only a source of annoyance and pain."
"Then I won't marry him at all, mother," I cry, recklessly. "I don't want to one bit: and probably if I tell him to-morrow I hate and despise him he will not want to either. Or shall I write? A letter will go far quicker."
But mother is aghast at this daring proposal. Because he has disappointed her hopes in one quarter is no reason why she should lose him altogether as a son-in-law.
"No, no," she says in a slightly altered tone. "Let things remain as they now are. It is a good match for you in every sense of the word; and setting him free would give Dora no satisfaction. But I wish it had all come about differently."
With that she turns from me and goes towards the door. My heart feels breaking.
"Oh, mother, you are not going to leave me like this, are you?" I burst out, miserably. "When other girls get engaged, people are kind and say nice things to them; but nobody seems to care about me, nobody wishes me joy. Am I nothing to you? Am I to get only hard and cruel words?" Piteous sobs interrupt me. I cover my face with my hands.
Of course in another moment I am folded in mother's arms, and her soft hands press my graceless head down upon the bosom that never yet in all my griefs has failed me. Two of her tears fall upon my cheek.
"My darling child," she whispers, "have I been too unkind to you? I did not mean it, Phyllis; but I have been made so miserable by all I have heard."
"But you don't think me deceitful, mother?"
"No, not now—not at any time, I think; but I was greatly upset by poor Dora's disappointment. My darling, I hope you will be happy in your choice and in my heart I believe you will. At all events, he is not blind to the virtues of my dear girl. He loves you very dearly, Phyllis. Are you sure, my dearest, that you love him?"