"What do you think is the matter with him?" I returned.
"I don't know. He wasn't himself."
"I thought he was more than himself," I rejoined; "for I never heard even him read the litany with such fervor."
"In some of the petitions," said Percivale, "it amounted to a suppressed agony of supplication. I am certain he is in trouble."
I told him my suspicions.
"Likely—very likely," he answered, and became thoughtful.
"But you don't think she refused him?" he said at length.
"If he ever asked her," I returned, "I fear she did; for she is plainly in trouble too."
"She'll never stick to it," he said.
"You mustn't judge Marion by ordinary standards," I replied. "You must remember she has not only found her vocation, but for many years proved it. I never knew her turned aside from what she had made up her mind to. I can hardly imagine her forsaking her friends to keep house for any man, even if she loved him with all her heart. She is dedicated as irrevocably as any nun, and will, with St. Paul, cling to the right of self-denial."