'But, dearest Emily, who are "they"? You don't know that he is married—literary men don't often marry. For all you know, he is a handsome young man, who will fall madly in love with you.'
'No one ever fell in love with me except that horrid old man—how I hate him, how I detest to think of it! I thought I should have died when he asked to marry me. The very memory of it is enough to make me hate all men, and prevent me from liking any one. I don't think I could like him; I should always see that wicked old man's hoary, wrinkled face in his.'
'Oh, Emily, I cannot think how such ideas can come into your head. It is not right, indeed it isn't.' And this simple Englishwoman looked at this sensitive girl in sheer wonderment and alarm.
'I only say what I think. I am glad the old man did disinherit me. I'm glad we are leaving Ashwood; I cannot abide the place when I think of him.... There, that is his chair. I can see him sitting in it now. He is grinning at us; he is saying, "Ha! ha! I have made beggars of you both." You remember how we used to tremble when we met his terrible old face on the stairs; you remember how he used to sit glaring at us all through dinner?'
'Yes, Emily, I remember all that; but I do not think it natural that you should forget all the years of kindness; he was very good to you, and loved you very much, and if he forgot himself at the end of his life, we must remember the weakness of age.'
'The hideousness of age,' Emily replied, in a low tone. The conversation paused, and then Julia said—
'You are speaking wildly, Emily, and will live to regret your words. Let us speak no more of Mr. Burnett... I daresay you will find your cousin a charming young man. I should laugh if it were all to end in a marriage. And how glad I should be to see you off on your honeymoon, to bid you good-bye!'
'Oh, Julia, don't speak like that; you will never bid me good-bye. You will never leave me—promise me that—you are my only friend. Oh, Julia, promise me that you will never leave me.'
Tears rose in Julia's eyes, and taking the girl in her arms, she said, 'I'll never leave you, my dear girl, until you yourself wish it.'
'I wish it? Oh, Julia, you do not know me. I have lost everything, Julia, but I mustn't lose you... After all, it doesn't so much matter, so long as we are not separated. I don't care about money, and we can have a nice little house in London all to ourselves. And if we get too hard up, we'll both go out as daily governesses. I think I could teach a little music, to young children, you know; you'd teach the older ones.' Emily looked at Julia inquiringly, and going over to the piano, attempted to play her favourite polka. Julia, who had once worked for her daily bread, and earned it in a sort of way by giving music-lessons, smiled sadly at the girl's ignorance of life.