‘It is so dreadful to think, Letty, that mother is encouraging him. She thinks it is for my happiness; she is offended if I try to say what I suffer. Oh, I couldn’t! I couldn’t!’
She put her palms before her face; her maidenhood shamed to speak of these things even to her bosom friend.
‘Can’t you show him, darling, that—that he mustn’t hope anything?’
‘How can I do so? It is impossible to be rude, and everything else it is so easy to misunderstand.’
‘But when he really speaks, then it will come to an end.’
‘I shall grieve mother so, Letty. I feel as if the best of my life had gone by. Everything seemed so smooth. Oh, why did he fall so, Letty? and I thought he cared for me, dear.’
She whispered it, her face on her friend’s shoulder.
‘Try to forget, darling; try!’
‘Oh, as if I didn’t try night and day! I know it is so wrong to give a thought. How could he speak to me as he did that day when I met him on the hill, and again when I went just to save him an annoyance? He was almost the same as before, only I thought him a little sad from his illness. He had no right to talk to me in that way! Oh, I feel wicked, that I can’t forget; I hate myself for still—for still—’
There was a word Letty could not hear, only her listening heart divined it.