"The fact is, she doesn't want to marry me; why not say it at once? or, rather, why doesn't she say so to me frankly, instead of deputing another person to do so?"
"There's a letter," said Miss Morgan, producing one from her pocket. "She wrote it and told me to give it to you; it's eight pages long, and all sorts of things in it—she's very fond of you—keep it and read it. But I tell you one line that's in it, she says she will always feel as a sister to you, or be a sister to you, or words to that effect—that's fatal—once a girl says that she's said the last word."
"I don't think she ever cared for me, really," said Mr Bevan—"let us sit down on this seat—no, I don't think she really ever cared for me."
"What made you two get engaged"
"Why should we not?"
"Because you're too much alike; you are both rich, and both steady and well-balanced, you know, and that sort of thing. Likes ought never to get married. Dear—dear—dear—what a pity——"
"What?"
"I was only thinking of all the love-making there's wasted in the world. Now I know so many girls who would suit you to a T. I'll tell you of one, if you like——"
"Thank you, I—um——"