"Quimby! poor Quimby! I have ruined him!" was Nattie's remorseful and unintelligible answer.
"Well, my dear, if you could possibly be a trifle lucid, perhaps I could understand the plot of the piece," said Cyn, decidedly relieved of her first surmise.
Upon which Nattie, half laughing and half crying, explained. But the ludicrous side was too much for Cyn, and she could only laugh.
"What a farce it would make!" she said, as soon as she could speak.
"Oh, Cyn!" Nattie said, reproachfully. "Think how dreadful it is for
Quimby, and for me, the un-meaning instrument of it all!"
"Nonsense, my dear," said Cyn, more seriously, and bringing her philosophy to bear on the subject, "It was not your fault! she was determined to have him in any case! Had it been you, as he supposed, you would of course have declined the proffered honor, and she would have caught him in the rebound! If he has spirit enough, he can get out of marrying her in some way. If not—she will make him a good wife enough. Men, you know, as she says, prefer to marry women who don't know too much; so it is all right!"
And with this Nattie was fain to be content. But she felt great pity for the poor fellow; perhaps because of the unhappiness in her own heart.
It is only from the depths of our own sorrows that we learn to feel for that of others.
As Quimby and Clem entered, both Nattie and Cyn looked surprised and curious, but Quimby, so excited now that his usual nervous bashfulness was forgotten, said immediately,
"I—I beg pardon, I am sure, for calling so late, but my business will not wait, and I wanted Clem as witness—he and Cyn—so as to make no mistake now!" then turning to the astonished Nattie, he went on,