“I knew it,” said Richmond half angrily. “It was thoughtless and cruel of him!”
“No, no, don’t blame him, dear. No one could be more noble and more good. You know how hard he works.”
“Yes,” said Richmond, with a sigh.
“And if he is impatient with his home and your father, why, you must recollect that he is a man, and men are not meant to be patient and suffering, like women.”
“He is too thoughtless, Janet, and—I don’t like to say it of my own brother—too selfish.”
“No, no!” cried Janet, flushing.
“Yes, dear, yes. Could he have had his way, you two would have been man and wife, and he half living on the earnings of these poor tiny little hands.”
“I don’t think he would have pressed me to it, Rich; and after all, it was because he loved me so.”
“Yes, and would have taken advantage of your loneliness here in this great cruel city, and dragged you down to poverty and misery such as I am bearing now. Janet, Janet dear, I feel sometimes as if I cannot bear this miserable degradation longer, and that all these troubles must be a punishment for my not telling my father about Mark.”
“Why, Rich,” said Janet, turning comforter once more, “what was there to tell? You made no engagement. And look here, if so much trouble is to come of love, why, you and I will take vows, and be single all our days. There, now, you look more like yourself; and I’m going to tell you my news.”