“Why, Cary, is it possible you do not know that Raymond and Miss Keith are troth-plight?”
“Troth-plight! Mr Raymond! Annas!”
I started up in my astonishment. Here was a turning upside down of all my notions!
“So that is news to you?” said Ephraim, evidently surprised himself. “Why, I thought you had known it long ago. Of course I must have puzzled you! I see, now.”
“I never heard a word about it,” I said, feeling as though I must be dreaming, and should awake by-and-by. “I always thought—”
“You always thought what?”
“I thought you cared for Annas,” I forced my lips to say.
“You thought I cared for Miss Keith?” Ephraim’s tone was a stronger negative than any words could have been. “Yes, I cared for her as your friend, and as a woman in trouble, and a woman of fine character: but if you fancied I wished to make her my wife, you were never more mistaken. No, Cary; I fixed on somebody else for that, a long while ago—before I ever saw Miss Keith. May I tell you her name?”
Then we were right at first, and it was Fanny. I said, “Yes,” as well as I could.
“Cary, I never loved, and never shall love, any one but you.”